


Dance a Little Dance

by Kisnau



Series: Again [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clubbing, F/F, F/M, FrostIron - Freeform, IronFrost - Freeform, Loki is acting weird, M/M, Norse family drama, Odin has ulterior motives, One Night Stands, Thor is clueless, Tony's life choices, Tony's suit doesn't like the Bifrost, daddy issues abound, intergalactic conference, mortals in Asgard, unexpected trials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:42:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3081980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisnau/pseuds/Kisnau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s 2014: The team is living in Stark Tower in NYC, and Tony finds Loki in Malibu, of all places. Tony keeps it on the down-low, and is surprised when, months later, Thor gets called home by Odin. Loki’s returned, and Thor reveals he thought Loki died in 2013. The Avengers are invited to confer with Asgard in light of a new threat. Tony volunteers to go; maybe a bit too quickly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let’s Try And Avoid Clichés, Shall We?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I prefer to borrow, rather than own – like a library! I’ve got my Character Card in my wallet, hold on. Yes, I want the full ensemble for Marvel’s universe, for this fic. No, no, I don’t need the ones from “Guardians of the Galaxy,” just yet, but thanks. Maybe another time. Oh, am I overdue on the Iron Man muse? Shall have to pay the fine, then. (Dammit, I’ve gotta have forty cents in here somewhere!)
> 
> Title: Dance a Little Dance  
> Chapter One: Let’s Try And Avoid Clichés, Shall We?  
> Word Count: 8,335  
> [Total Word Count: 8,335]  
> Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe  
> Pairing: Eventual FrostIron/IronFrost, if we can get there in one piece.  
> Warning: Language, violence, allusions to sex, nightclubs (basically, Tony’s lifestyle)  
> Spoilers: Incorporates everything in the main storyline up to the ending of “Thor: The Dark World”. Also, Tony still has the shrapnel, electromagnet and arc reactor in his chest.  
> Author: Kisnau  
> Date: Thursday, January 1, 2015  
> Miscellaneous Notes: I should really be writing for “Second Try” (my YYH monster), not getting into a whole new fandom of fanfiction. Oh well~  
> First fic posted under my new handle name! How exciting! :D  
> Also, Happy New Year! :3

* * *

 

            It didn’t begin like one of those romantic comedies you see chugged out of Hollywood every December or February, like clockwork. It didn’t begin like some clandestine, torrid affair that they both tried to hide from the rest of the Avengers, Asgard and S.H.I.E.L.D. in general.

 

            Whether he knew it or not, it began with Tony walking down the street in Malibu, California, in a sweatshirt and jeans, the hood pulled up and sunglasses helping to hide his face. Being a famous genius billionaire was fantastic, really, but sometimes it was fun to just play the Regular Joe for a while.

 

            So, he’d been walking. No Happy, no entourage, just some streetlights overhead during a late-night run for some good ol’ American junk food. The bag of burgers and fries was still steaming in his hand, but the glint of something out of place caught his eye from across the street. When he turned to find the source more purposefully, it was gone. For a moment, Tony stared in the direction it’d been, then shrugged and continued on his way home.

 

            He forgot about it.

 

* * *

 

            A few weeks later – during the kind of 5:00 AM coffee run only ascribed to by insomniacs revving up for another day or the truly dedicated caffeine addicts getting their fix before going on a swim or a run or whatever those ambitious workaholics did first thing in the morning – and Tony was walking home, again. The streets were still blissfully empty, giving the impression of a ghost town were it not for the lit signs of the stores buzzing all around him. He passed by a café whose line didn’t quite stretch out the door, yet, glancing in the window as he passed, to check himself out, before stopping cold.

 

            Beyond the glass was a familiar face.

 

            Mind processing all the possibilities, his body entered the café of its own accord and strode up to the person he’d seen without preamble. Standing at the side of the small, rounded table, Tony noted all the relevant details. This man was wearing a simple black suit with a black tie and white shirt. A green-and-yellow, thin, patterned scarf hung around his neck, and he seemed to be engrossed in his book. Black hair was swept back from his forehead, neatly slicked to give the impression of a pristine appearance.

 

            “Fancy seeing you here.” The man’s eyes flicked up to Tony, at the comment. Every line of the man’s body was calm as he made no other move; not to lean back, not to close his book, even.

 

            “‘tis a ‘free country’, is it not? That is what you say?” Tony smiled tightly.

 

            “Sure is. You know, you look like someone I know.” The stranger had the gall to appear mildly interested, eyes sharp with amusement before they turned back to his book, idly picking up his cup of tea to take a sip.

 

            “Do I, now?

 

[[Art by Batwynn.](http://batwynn.tumblr.com/)]

            “Yeah.” Tony plopped into the seat across from him, his coffee set in front of him, grin all teeth and misplaced anticipation. He waved a hand towards the other man. “Only he’s usually in leather and silver and likes to fuck with people.” The man’s eyes flicked back up at him, a slow, engaging smile curling against the rim of his teacup.

 

            “He sounds to be quite the intriguing individual.” Those tones were smooth, unruffled. Tony didn’t take his eyes off him.

 

            “Yeah. He would be, if he weren’t a wanted criminal. Last I heard, he was gonna be locked up for a long time. Eons, maybe.” There was a mild click of porcelain as the teacup was set back down, and the man’s eyes returned to his book, every inch of him still radiating a dismissive calm.

 

            “I am certain you exaggerate.”

 

            “Not really.” Tony suddenly shot back, abruptly annoyed. “Two years isn’t long enough for _that_ debt to society to be paid in full. Trust me, I know.” The man smirked, but didn’t bother to look back up at him.

 

            “’You know’, do you? How, praytell?”

 

            “I have my sources.” A glittering glance from over his book was all Tony was afforded, for that one. The man’s eyes seemed black in the shadows of his face, a corner of his mouth pulling in a subtly smug smile.

 

            “Sources can be unreliable.” Tony narrowed his eyes at the man.

 

            “So I’m finding. What’re you doing here, anyway?” The man took another sip of his tea, demurely.

 

            “Reading. That is, until you so kindly forced your presence on me.” Those dark eyes settled on him, again, narrowing slightly in a subtle threat despite the liar’s congenial smile the man was sporting. Tony didn’t flinch, just returned the look with equal bravado.

 

            “Like I said, you reminded me of someone. Wouldn’t any good citizen turn in a wanted criminal, if they had the chance?” Tony neglected to mention he wasn’t exactly known for being a ‘good citizen’, but the man’s eyes flashed, anyway.

 

            “Are you implying something?” Tony grinned at him, again, crooked and bullshitting.

 

            “Depends on if you’re going to act like a criminal or just some bookworm in a coffee shop, I guess.” The surreal blackness in those eyes faded away, replaced by sharp, pale green as the man assessed him, finally leaning back in his seat. After a long stare-down, the man broke it, his voice soft and contemplative.

 

            “A criminal would lie about his true intentions.” Tony paused, looking up briefly at the ceiling, considering.

 

            “Well, _yeah._ ” The man’s mouth pressed into a firm, thin line of irritation.

 

            “Then what is your point?” Tony shrugged, shifting in his seat and finally grabbing his coffee off the table.

 

            “You had two options; say yes, say no. You picked the third. Or was it the fourth?” Tony squinted in thought, then shrugged. “Either way, a true criminal wouldn’t admit his guilt. He’d hide it. Or try to justify it. Guess it wouldn’t be too likely he’d be sitting here sipping tea instead of causing havoc.” The man studied him. Tony watched him even as he lifted his tall, paper coffee cup, for a drink.

 

            “Perhaps his motives are not criminal, then.” Tony raised a brow at the quiet tone, the man’s eyes on his steady and seeming to be waiting for the axe to fall. Tony set down his coffee.

 

            “If that’s the case, then how’s he a criminal? Sure, he should be locked up, but this guy’s powerful. Doubt we could hold him if we wanted to, unless we had some outside help.” Tony watched him carefully as he said this, and the man blinked slowly at him before smirking faintly and returning his eyes to his book.

 

            “A valid point.” The man said diplomatically, making a show of turning the page even though Tony knew he hadn’t been reading. His eyes hadn’t moved in that classic typewriter-action across the page, once, during their entire discussion. “But what’s to stop your friend from reverting to his old ways, if this is indeed him we’re talking about?”

 

            “He’s not my friend.” Tony stated abruptly, and the man jerked his gaze back up to Tony, eyes wide for a moment in surprise before narrowing in anger. Tony put out a hand, palm-out in the universal gesture for peace (if you weren’t Iron Man, that is). “Don’t get me wrong. He opened a fucking alien portal over my penthouse, unleashed chaos on NYC, and messed around with a whole shit-ton of people.” The man’s eyes flickered, threatening black again, but Tony continued, pointing his hand like a gun at him. “But you? You wouldn’t do all that, right?” Tony’s eyes were steel; warning of an inevitable outcome. “Because you’re not sitting here like a criminal. You’re not just pretending to read a book but really plotting all these ways to screw the world over, again. You’re just sitting there drinking your tea and having a conversation with the one, the only, Tony Stark, because I’m a devastatingly attractive charmer.”

 

            The man stared at him. Tony kept his face unreadable, watching him. The situation could spiral out of control at any moment, and he might need to be ready. But then again, it might not.

 

            After a long time, the man turned back to his book with a soft chuckle.

 

            “Are threats and blatant narcissism the standard protocol for all your new friends, Mr. Stark?” Tony mostly resisted the smile that was trying to claw onto his face.

 

            “Only the ones that deserve it.” He conceded, and was rewarded with an amused look for his trouble, before the man’s eyes dropped back to his book. Slender fingers curled around his teacup, again, lifting it.

 

            “I shall keep that in mind, then.” The man murmured, taking another sip. Tony watched him for another minute, trying to adjust to the weirdness of what had just happened. Then, he decided he’d had enough intrigue for one day, and stood up. “Leaving already?” Tony glanced down, noting the man’s eyes were still on his book. He shrugged.

 

            “Sort of in the middle of a project. Just went out for some coffee.” The man smirked.

 

            “I would have taken you for the sort to make your own, in an expensive machine.” Tony blinked at him, interested at the amount of research it’d probably taken the man to be able to make that comment.

 

            “Well, yeah. But sometimes there’s just nothing like getting cheap shit from down the street. Good for the neurons.” A soft scoff greeted that, but the man shooed him lightly away with one hand, nonetheless.

 

            “Do not allow me to keep you, then. Off you go.” Tony grinned down at him, feeling oddly accomplished.

 

            “See you later, toots. Be good, now.” Tony spun on his heel and beat it out of there before the man could change his mind about being a civilian, not a criminal, this time around.

 

            Some part of his mind was tugging at him, wanting to know why Tony hadn’t just called for a suit and hauled Loki’s ass in to S.H.I.E.L.D. But Loki hadn’t _done_ anything, at least not yet, and wasn’t this the country that prided itself on ‘innocent until proven guilty’? If he’d escaped Asgard’s prisons, then there was nothing Tony or any other human could do about it. Maybe Thor could’ve helped, but he was in Arizona and Tony got the feeling a little brotherly reunion would probably do more harm than good.

 

            He’d seen the way Loki fought Thor, back in New York; all tricks and subtle jabs and daggers in the stomach and biting comments through the big guy’s heart. New York had almost been _for_ Thor – in a look-I’ve-got-my-sights-set-on-your-precious-humans-u-mad sort-of way. Tony did _not_ want to get in the middle of whatever issues those two had. If Loki started returning to his old ways, then Tony’d call up the team and they’d go at it and beat him down, again. But for whatever reason, Tony got the impression that Loki was almost… on vacation?

 

            Weird.

 

            He got home, and didn’t think about it as he automatically asked Jarvis to do a scan of that coffee shop and see if he could glean any energy signatures at all from Loki, in addition to the ones they’d gotten during that conversation in Stark Tower, two years ago. It would make Tony sleep better at night, if he could somehow track Loki. Jarvis obliged, and Tony buried himself in a whirlwind of building, calculations and science while the program ran.

 

* * *

 

            When Jarvis reported, hours later, that he couldn’t detect any abnormal energy signatures among the usual humans coming and going out of that shop, Tony came to one of two conclusions.

 

            Either Loki had left as soon as Tony did, knowing Tony’d try and tag him, or Loki’s magic really _was_ magic, and couldn’t be explained by scientific means. It might be impossible for Jarvis’ scanners to pick up that wavelength of his energy. Then again Loki hadn’t been cloaked, from what Tony could tell. He’d just been sitting there, innocently enough, acting like any other patron.

 

            Still, it wasn’t in Tony’s nature to just give up.

 

            Seeking Loki out when he seemed to be on a relatively peaceful visit sounded suicidal, at best, and Tony decided it was smarter _not_ to poke the tiger. If there was anything weird going on he’d notice it. Briefly, he wondered why Loki had chosen Malibu. Was it the sunny climate? The earth-friendly populace? Loki struck him as one of those ‘earth mother’ types, now that Tony thought of it. When the guy wasn’t trying to conquer the world, of course. Loki’d seemed relatively mellow today, almost as though he was on top of the world. He’d had an assured serenity about him that Tony hadn’t seen in New York.

 

            That? That had been _all_ desperation and a bid for attention, even if Loki wouldn’t admit to it.

 

            What had changed, in two years? Tony remembered hearing about something going on in London, a few months after all that shit involving the Mandarin and Pepper being kidnapped. The news cameras had been all over it, but the quality had been pure shit. After that mess, Thor had returned, too, explaining what had gone on in England. He also said that the All-Father – Odin, anyway – had allowed for him to stay on Earth with Jane. Tony thought that was pretty decent of the guy, considering his past judgments. Thor hadn’t said anything about Loki, and the Avengers hadn’t asked. They’d all assumed he was still locked up in Asgard’s jail.

 

            Apparently not, Tony thought to himself privately.

 

            Regardless, he put it out of his mind and dove back into his work.

 

* * *

 

            The next time he runs into Loki, Tony doesn’t see it coming at all.

 

            It’s a night club – one of the ones he really likes, but hasn’t been to in a while – and he slips in as he usually does, slapping the bouncer companionably on the shoulder as he enters ahead of the line. The staff all know him here, and bless their souls the bartender already has his drink of choice set out for him with an amused grin.

 

            “Been a while, Tony. Busy with those supervillains?” Tony grins at him, bright and wide, and takes a sip of his drink, leaning forward on the bar.

 

            “You know it. But I figure I’d deprived you guys of my presence long enough. Your DJ know what I want?” The bartender chuckles, shaking his head as he polishes a glass.

 

            “Go ask him. He’s new, I’m sure he’ll be properly star-studded at seeing _you_ his second night on the job.”

 

            “Hey, as long as he throws down some phat beats, I don’t give a damn.” Tony waves the bartender off as he winds through the crowd towards the DJ, intending on insisting about his requests. They even have a playlist for him here – none of that classic rock he uses for thinking music, but modern pop with a good bass line and shitty lyrics. If there’s one redeeming quality about how bad mainstream music’s become, it’s in the now-acceptable grinding up against perfect strangers. Had Howard Stark seen what passed for ‘the youth’s entertainment’, these days, he would’ve probably had an aneurysm. Grinning meanly at the thought of the old man shouting at the top of his lungs at a roomful of partiers, face red, Tony ducks and dodges around the dancers to put in the request for his party playlist, slipping the shell-shocked, wide-eyed new kid a $100 bill and winking as he disappears back into the crowd.

 

            It’s halfway through the playlist and he’s off to the side for a breather, peering around the room for tonight’s Mrs. Right, when two slender arms come up from behind him, around his chest, and there’s a sultry whisper in his ear.

 

            “Dance with me?” The voice has a cadence to it that Tony can’t quite place, but the whisper of her soft hair presses against his cheek as she leans forward.

 

            “Well, that depends. Do you really wanna dance or shall we take this elsewhere? Because you’re already all over me and I – ” He turns in her arms as he speaks, grin cocky and not a little lecherous, but he trails off when he catches sight of her face. It’s delicate but sharp, thin but softened around the edges, and her eyes are hooded under slender eyebrows as she watches him. Her hair is an endless curtain of solid black, some falling over her shoulders, straight but curled at the ends, as though she’d treated it to get it that straight. She’s taller than him, too. Tony’s grin has gone slack and he’s quick to dial the charm back up, smoothly sliding his arms forward. She’s not thin, not like some of the girls here, but not fat; solid, in a late-twenties sort of way, her stomach soft as his palm brushes past it and her waist slightly tapered, enough for his arms to feel at home as they settle around it, locking her in. Tony decides the rest of the girls here can go straight to hell – not that he’d tell them that, there will be other nights, after all –

 

            “Is that a yes?” She’s angling her face down at him, eyes laughing at him, and goddamn it _Tony’s_ the player, here, he shouldn’t be so taken from one look alone, it’s not like he’s not been propositioned before –

 

            “No, that’s a where-have-you-been-all-my-life and do you like classic cars?” Tony shoots one of his usual lines in an uncharacteristic flustered reaction, but she laughs smoothly at him and cups his cheek with one hand, the other pressing against the nape of his neck, eyes dark and fiery and intent and oh shit he’s really screwed because now he’s imagining doing all _sorts_ of things to her.

 

           He drove here, after all. In _one_ of said classic cars. Which will probably get all kinds of messy if things go as planned. The woman leans in and mouths at his ear unexpectedly, breath hot.

 

            “My dance, first.” Tony doesn’t wait to drag her onto the dance floor. If that’s what he’s gotta do to seal this deal, he’ll do it in a heartbeat. She presses to him and he pulls her in and they’re doing what two pros such as them do best – well, next to engineering, for him – and her hands are in his hair and god she isn’t _shy,_ not at all. Some girls try too hard to win him over, some play the domestic, but this woman _takes_ what she wants and doesn’t ask for permission, just drags him in for a kiss halfway through their dance and then they’re basically dry-humping amidst all the other couples doing the same. The dress she’s wearing is satin with a sheen to it, something that makes his hands slide off it if he doesn’t grip tightly enough.

 

            Some time later they make it to the car and she suggests going back to his place. Tony’s not thinking with his higher head, by this point, and so he forgets the bit about doing it in his car and instead steps on the gas to head back to his swish house. As soon as he parks, she leans over the seat and kisses him, hand groping for his crotch and – just like with all the other girls at this point in the night – Tony thinks he’s in love. They somehow make it out of the car and Jarvis unlocks the door as he presses her against it. They stumble inside and to the bed and he pulls her into the right room before she tackles him, kissing down his throat and already pumping him and his body is singing with pleasure.

 

            It’s a long, satisfying night. They switch places often, because she won’t have it any other way, and Tony falls asleep near dawn after a particularly mind-blowing orgasm, with her arm draped over his hip. His hand’s in her hair – no longer straight, but in damp black waves and tangled – so he can’t really complain.

 

            What’s strange, is the next morning he wakes and she’s not there. It doesn’t really bother him – he’s familiar with one-night stands, and hey, this saves him the awkwardness of Pepper needing to take care of it. So he gets out of bed, just pulling on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt, and heads out to the living room for some easy cereal for breakfast. What startles him is seeing her sitting primly on his white leather couch, staring out at the stunning panorama the large windows facing the sea offer. After the Mandarin’s goons had destroyed it, Tony’d rebuilt his house better and more reinforced, but he was always a sucker for the awesome view. The glass was well and beyond bulletproof, this time, though.

 

            What strikes him, next, is that she’s not wearing the dress from last night. The only reason this seems important is because he hadn’t remembered her bringing any clothes, and the low-cut vest and chic pencil skirt strike him as things he would’ve remembered. Her hair is perfect again, pulled back in a long braid down her back and Tony realizes he’s just standing there, saying nothing. She glances back at him before he can, though, her eyes dark and challenging and he takes a step back, putting his hands up as she stalks over to him.

 

            “Hey, whoa, I know last night was great but uh – ” He’s always been bad at this part of the night. Sex is easy. Morning-afters are hard. Most girls who catch him in the morning want to stay and cozy up to him and be his wife. Tony hopes to god that that isn’t the case, here. But her eyes aren’t possessive. They’re – loathing? Tony’s eyes widen and he laughs highly, nervous. “Ohhh, OK. I’ve pissed you off. Um. Maybe you should just – just go home? I mean we knew what this was and what it wasn’t, and you don’t strike me as the type to – ”

 

            “Tony Stark. Are you really such a fool?” He’s brought up short, at that accusing, low tone, and blinks at her, startled. He doesn’t get the joke.

 

            “What?” The woman strides up to him, her height looming over him, eyes burning in her face. She reaches a hand up to hold him roughly by the back of the neck, and hisses down at him, her face a fearsome mask of fury.

 

            “ _You_. Are a _fool._ Is a pretty female face all it takes to get past your defenses?”

 

            “What are you – ” And then she starts to _glow_ around the edges and by the time Tony sees a flicker of something green – like electricity, no, like _magic_ – flicker over her face, he realizes it a split-second before it changes to something much more masculine and familiar, but no less incensed.

 

            “You – you _little shit_ , what the _fuck_ was that for?” Tony bursts out, suddenly feeling vulnerable and none-too-comfortable with the knowledge staring back at him, his eyes wide and mouth slack with equal parts shock and fury. Loki’s still gripping his neck, hard, and Tony shoves him away with a sense of impending doom as he stares at the god, incredulous. “You… I… we…” Loki peers back at him, grimly.

 

            “Yes, Tony Stark. You have copulated with me.” A smirk climbs high on one side of Loki’s face. “Do you regret it that much? You seemed so eager last night – ” Tony gapes at him.

 

            “I thought you were a _woman_! Shit! What kind of messed-up world do you live in? What the fuck, man?” Loki considers him, eyes hooding dangerously.

 

            “My gender is that much of a deterrent?” Tony makes a frustrated noise, and shoves him in the chest, back teeth grinding as he glares up at him.

 

            “So _not_ the point, here! Shit!” Tony runs an agitated hand through his hair, turning his back on Loki and trying to calm down from the realization. He shakes his head. He can’t make sense of it. “Not that I’m complaining, but – ” He glances back over his shoulder, sharply, towards where Loki’s standing; a solitary silhouette in black jeans and a green V-necked shirt against the blue sky, through the windows. “ _Why?”_ Clearly, Loki’d done his research on him. But why? Just to fuck with him? Curiosity?

 

            Loki looks away, surprising him.

 

            “I am… doing research on mortals, while I am here.” He offers, stiffly, still not looking at Tony. “The differences in how each gender is treated are intriguing. Also, females lack the ability to impregnate others and so in taking that form, the risk of spreading half-god children through the human race is eliminated, since I have a choice in allowing conception. Beyond that, taking on a female form assures more anonymity and such as – ”

 

            “So you decided to fuck the great Tony Stark so you can go bragging to your supervillain buddies about how easy I am when it comes to girls?” Tony’s not sure who he’s angrier with; Loki, for tricking him with obviously ulterior motives, or himself for not seeing it coming.

 

            Loki surprises him, again.

 

            “No!” He sounds just as incensed as Tony, shooting a reproachful glare back at him. “I did not know it was _you_ , Tony Stark! The lighting in the club was dark, I had only pegged you as a man seeking a partner for the night and you moved well to the music – I thought it would be child’s play to coerce you into my bed. I was right.” Tony stares at him.

 

            “You seriously don’t expect me to believe this was all a coincidence, do you?” Loki’s glare spikes, aggressively.

 

            “You accuse me of lying?”

 

            “Considering I’m talking to the fucking God of Lies and Deception, I’d say that’s a _yes!”_ Tony bellows back at him, and Loki’s moved forward to grab him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him up. The fabric stretches in protest, and Tony’s a little afraid it’ll rip, but he’s more afraid of the sparking green fire in Loki’s eyes than anything else. Not that he lets it show. But Loki doesn’t say anything to his accusations, so Tony just plows on. “What, didn’t feel like stopping? What, didn’t hear Jarvis welcome me home, last night? Just wanted to mindfuck me? Too busy plotting my demise?” Loki snarls at him, leaning in as he drags Tony up and closer, teeth seeming unnaturally sharp in his rage.

 

            “You assume too much, mortal. I was… otherwise engaged, as were you, otherwise I would have noticed these details before you shared my bed. It was dark…” That last comment is murmured ruefully, Loki’s eyes slanting off to the side and Tony takes the opportunity to grab his hand and try to pull it off him.

 

            Loki surprising him seems to be the theme of the morning, because Loki _lets_ Tony pull himself free. And if he’s anything like Thor, Tony’s meager strength probably felt like a kitten’s, to Loki. It’s that which gives him pause, which makes Tony peer back up at the God of Mischief like he’s never quite seen him, before.

 

            “… wait a minute. If you don’t want little baby Lokis running around, why not just use condoms like the rest of us?” Loki’s nose wrinkles and for an insane moment Tony actually finds it funny.

 

            “I despise those wretched plastic socks. It cuts down on the experience.” Tony eyes him, fingers still curled around Loki’s wrist, which Loki hasn’t tried to take back, yet.

 

            “Then why not just ‘control yourself’, like you do with conception in a female body?” Loki sends him a nasty look, but it’s tempered by something Tony can’t quite place. (… Uncertainty?)

 

            “Anatomy does not work that way. On the female level, when I shift forms, I have the option of ensuring there are no eggs to be fertilized.” Loki’s tone is icy, as though he doesn’t enjoy explaining this. Tony can’t understand why, as the concept is fascinating. Imagine if real women could do the same! Loki continues, oblivious to Tony’s tangential thoughts. “On the off-chance I miss one and _do_ conceive, I am fully aware of the conception after a day or two and so can nullify the pregnancy before it becomes an issue.” Tony stares at him.

 

            “So, you just like being a slut instead of a player?” Loki shoots him a look as though he’s not entirely sure Tony’s _not_ insulting him, and Tony grins lightly, releasing Loki’s wrist to put his hands up in front of his chest, in surrender. “Hey, no judgment, man.” Then his curiosity gets the better of him. “So what’s it like?” Loki stares at him.

 

            “… What?” Tony presses on, grinning lasciviously and leaning in.

 

            “Being a woman. What’s it feel like? Did you like it when I – ” The hand that covers his mouth is one of lighting speed, and Tony feels a little gratified at seeing a light flush high on Loki’s goddamned cheekbones. The fingers digging into his cheeks in a bruising hold aren’t as much fun, though.

 

            “If you value your life, mortal, you will not finish that sentence.” Loki states, lowly, and Tony resists the urge to grin cheekily up at him. He doesn’t know what’s going on, here, but Loki hasn’t tried to kill him and he didn’t kill him last night, so things are looking pretty good. Tony nods, acquiescing when it’s clear Loki won’t let him go until he agrees. True to form, Loki releases him at that point. Tony rubs his jaw, as they consider each other.

 

            “So. A one-time thing, right?” Loki’s lips purse, and Tony’s narcissism gets the better of him. “I mean, I know I’m _fabulous_ , a real diamond in the rough, but – ”

 

            “You do not know the meaning of humility, do you?” Loki asks dryly, and Tony grins wide at him.

 

            “Nope! But. A one-time thing, right?” Loki sighs, and Tony has the strong suspicion he’s resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.

 

            “No. Yes. Never again. You have your…” Loki waves a hand in an out-of-character lack of vocabulary, and Tony snorts.

 

            “Yeah, I don’t think the team would be thrilled. Or Pepper, for that matter. Definitely not Thor.” Loki winces, at the name, and shoots a warning look at Tony.

 

            “Not a _word_ to – ” Tony’s already shaking his head, putting his hands up, palms out.

 

            “No worries, there, man. I’m not suicidal.” Loki sniffs at him, and Tony thinks he’s covering a laugh. Then Tony realizes his half of the situation. “Oh, um. You’re not gonna say anything to… ?” Loki blinks, then smirks a little.

 

            “Your bedroom secrets are safe with me, Stark. As satisfying as it might be to gloat over how easily I breached your defenses, in the right disguise, I believe I would lose the other villains’ respect if they knew you had… What is the Midgardian term? ‘Nailed’ me?” Tony chokes a little on his snort, and waves off Loki’s look of mild concern.

 

            “Um… yeah, no, I get it. So.” He puts out his hand, and Loki peers at it for a moment before reaching his own out, to shake. “Never again.” Loki nods at him, and Tony grips his hand out of something nameless – something wrong, that’s quickly buried.

 

            “Yes. Farewell, Tony Stark.” And just like that, in a flash of green magic, Loki is gone.

 

            Tony eats his breakfast, goes down to his workshop and takes one of the engines of his cars apart. He doesn’t think about it for the rest of the day, by sheer force of will.

 

            (Except for that part of his brain that can’t help replaying everything they did, only now painting Loki’s more familiar male face over the aggressive, dominating female one caught in pleasure so many times over the course of that night.)

 

* * *

 

            Enough time passes that Tony forgets about it. No, he actually does, and this isn’t some denial working. For a few weeks he’s a little too weirded-out to go clubbing again, but after his newest stroke of genius for updating the suit followed by working for 46 hours straight and then 10 hours asleep, he wakes up ready to hit the town again. If there’s anything Tony knows about life, it’s work hard and play harder. Considering making things technically falls into the category he enjoys, though, Tony arbitrarily sticks meeting with the board meetings or with the Avengers as his work, and everything else as play.

 

            Speaking of, now that Thor’s back on Earth for an indefinite sabbatical from Asgard (they have a pool running about how long it’ll take Odin’s good mood to end, and call his son back, though), their meetings have been upped to once a week. The big guy seems pretty happy, and a lot of that probably has to do with Jane Foster. Tony’s pretty sure Thor never thought he’d get to spend as much time with her as Odin’s letting him, now. Maybe the war-father up there in Asgard actually has a heart, after all.

 

            (It almost makes Tony jealous. Big Wolf Howard Stark, genius of his age, couldn’t spare a hug for his own kid. Didn’t give a fuck when Tony tried to bring home his first girlfriend; didn’t even bother to meet her. The family dinner his mom had planned all fell apart when Howard called to say he couldn’t make it out of NYC, big things to do, big projects to push through. They ended up having dinner with just the three of them; Tony’s mom trying too hard, Tony’s date feeling awkward and uncomfortable at the unvoiced family tension sizzling in the air, and Tony realizing how little his life mattered to his own dad. Sort of tells you why Tony buries himself in machines and one-night stands, doesn’t it? When he’s creating he’s in that ‘other’, no-self state of mind – until he runs the tests, anyway, and then it’s all posturing for the camera DUM-E’s sporting – and when he’s fucking he’s purposefully choosing not to think _anything._ )

 

            Tony’s conscience is battling with his pride, about mentioning he’s seen Loki. Steve, he knows, would give him this disapproving look for not saying anything earlier. Natasha would see right through him, know the truth in an instant, and then examine her fingernails, bored. Cliff would get this vengeful light in his eyes and Tony just _knows_ he’d go to stalk the places he’d mentioned, seeking out payback for Loki using him when he came for the Tesseract. Bruce would probably blink, and give no visible outward reaction, but would corner Tony later and carefully ask him for the real story. Bruce wouldn’t pressure him like Steve would, though, because he’s cool and definitely not military-minded, like that. Bruce would just want to know, to make sure Tony’s OK. Steve would want to know for the ‘safety of humanity’ or something like that.

 

            Thor? Thor would probably call for Mjolnir in a heartbeat, punching a hammer-sized hole through a good amount of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s reinforced walls in the process. And Tony’s OK with that, really; Fury’s pulsing angry vein should have its own soundtrack built around it. He’d protest that Loki’s locked away in Asgard, unable to commit any acts of mischief, but would then proceed to book it home, just to check. And then who would have to explain Thor’s sudden absence to Jane Foster, if Odin then decided he wanted his first-born son and heir home, again?

 

            Tony. Tony _Fucking_ Stark.

 

            All of that drama is definitely _not_ worth it, especially when 1) Loki’s not _done_ anything, yet, and 2) It’s been _months_ since that run-in in the coffee shop and the weird accidental tryst they had.

 

            So Tony leaves it alone.

 

* * *

 

            An end to the stalemate comes in the form of Clint one day shrieking from the balcony that there’s a huge-ass crow out there. Tony is one of the first to get there, and indeed – it _is_ huge. The bird must be three meters tall, to say nothing of its probably equally impressive wingspan. Natasha was sunbathing beside Clint, and Tony can tell she is watching the bird carefully from behind her sunglasses, for all she still looks relaxed. Tony hears Steve come up behind him, looking out of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out on the balcony and pausing visibly, hesitating.

 

            “Why do you think it’s here?” Steve asks him, not taking his eyes off the bird but voice quiet enough that he’s clearly addressing Tony. Tony shrugs, eyes skimming the sheen of the sun on black feathers for lack of anything better to do. Clint must have spilled his drink all over his own lap (like a boss), but he’s otherwise staring up at the thing with something almost akin to awe, now that the shock’s worn off. Tony squints, thinking he sees a golden medallion sporting one letter hung around the crow’s neck. ‘M’? Why ‘M’?

 

            “Muginn?” Thor’s voice echoes from the open door to the balcony, and Tony and Steve turn to catch Thor’s thunderstruck (hah!) expression, before it melts into confusion. The bird cants its head and looks directly at Thor.

 

            “The All-Father requests your presence.” Thor frowns while Clint silently freaks out to Natasha (in pantomime; Tony’s not _blind)_ about the bird actually being able to _talk._ Steve’s taking it all in stride, eyes sharp and brow furrowed towards the crow and _fuck_ if Tony’s going to be the only one acting uncool, here, so he’s calm, too.

 

            “He had given me permission to remain on Midgard. What is – ”

 

            “It is not to be spoken of, here.” The crow peers around at the Avengers (sans Dr. Banner and Mr. Hulk), and Tony feels small for an instant as the ancient gaze pauses on him. But still, Thor presses.

 

            “Why not send Sif, or the Warriors Three?” Muggin – is that its name? – returns its beady black eyes to Thor.

 

            “They would not be fast enough. There is no time, Thor. You must return.” Muggin – really, that’s the name that’s going to stick, no matter how wrong it is and now Tony can’t get the image of the crow in a trenchcoat holding up some poor schmuck in a black-and-white film’s alleyway somewhere for his wallet – is firm. It spreads its wings, talons flexing on the railing where it perches. Thor frowns again, but calls Mjolnir to him anyway. Tony winces as he hears the sound of the hammer punching through his walls, and resigns himself to new (and fabulously innovative!) renovations as it claps home in Thor’s palm. Thor is dressed with a literal bolt of lightning, and he casts an apologetic smile to the group as Muggin leaps into the air. Tony’s distracted; he sees the crow flying upward in a spiral, and out of the swirling clouds overhead appears a round portal of a bright, shining city.

 

            _Is that Asgard?_ He thinks, not a little in awe, wondering how fast he can get in his suit and follow. His brain is itching with questions, it notwithstanding that Jane Foster is the only human ever to set foot on Asgard. He’d peppered her with questions until she told him to stop – not that it mattered if he stopped or not, because his mind was still running over everything she’d deigned to tell him, which wasn’t much.

 

            But Thor is talking, now, and Tony tunes back into the conversation. He tries to ignore the scientific salivation going on in the back of his head, too.

 

            “ – her?” Tony assumes it was about Jane Foster when Steve nods his head.

 

            “I’ll tell her.” Steve gives a crooked smile which Tony guesses is from memories of Peggy ( _yes_ , Tony read the file – so what?). “Come back soon. Don’t make her wait.” Thor gives Steve a look that reminds Tony of a sad, troubled old man, but it is gone when Thor looks up, lifting Mjolnir towards the sky. Thor shoots up and through the portal as fast as – well, _lightning_. Muggin cranes its neck to observe the Avengers – sans Dr. Banner and Thor, now – watching from the balcony, before flicking its wings and soaring into the shimmering reflection of a city. Tony notices the surface ripple before it sucks in on itself – as though someone were drinking up a puddle with a straw – making an audible ‘pop’ that Tony guesses is Earth’s dimension closing back around the space occupied by the portal.

 

            The sky is blue, with clouds, not a sign anywhere of what has just occurred.

 

* * *

 

            Thor is gone a week, and when he returns it is with the Bifrost, alerting everyone in the tower and making them scramble for the roof. They hadn’t expected him back so soon, although they’d (and Jane Foster) been hoping.

 

            Tony theorizes that Muggin and Huggin – he read up on some Norse mythology while Thor was gone, all right? – have their own ways to travel through the Nine Realms, and so can easily open portals for themselves. Tony figures those two crows would be pretty inconvenient for Odin-the-war-father as his means of communication and reconnaissance if they had to use the Bifrost to come and go, every time.

 

            And no, by the way – “Muggin” and “Huggin” are _not_ their real names, but they’re sure-as-shit easier for Tony to remember!

 

            Thor’s face is troubled when the light of the Bifrost fades and Steve strides forward, all wholesome concern.

 

            “What happened, Thor?” Thor looks at each of them in turn, his face a twist of anguish.

 

            “I have not told all, my friends. For that I am filled with regret. Come, let us talk over the Table of Meeting.” Not used to their usually-exuberant resident alien prince being so somber, everyone just follows. They call Bruce in from Stark Tower’s R&D floors, and settle in the Avengers conference room. It’s here where they meet on video calls with Fury, and it’s here that Thor sets Mjolnir down by the door, and then proceeds to pace while the rest of the Avengers remain seated, waiting patiently.

            “The events of 2013. You recall them?” Tony answers.

 

            “You mean Greenwich, England? Yeah. _You_ were the one who briefed us on that party, big guy.” Thor nods.

 

           “As Jane can attest, there were other issues besides Malekith and his nefarious plot. I have not shared these with you.” Thor seems to hesitate, and everyone in the room can feel the atmosphere tighten. Thor lifts his head and there is nothing but sorrow in his eyes. “Malekith’s ships nearly destroyed our palace. He sought Jane and to reclaim the Aether within her. To prevent Jane from falling into the hands of Malekith, my mother battled with him. She bought us time, and fought well. But Malekith had one of the Kursed with him – a suicidal power-enhancing ability thought long lost to time. This Kursed killed my mother, and Loki and I journeyed with Jane to Svartalfheim and killed _him._ ” There is a fevered strength to that last sentence, of vengeance delivered with satisfaction, Thor’s eyes over-bright and impassioned. The room rings with the silence of this revelation.

 

            Tony feels the echoes of his lost parents. He’s sure Steve feels it, too. Bruce, Natasha and Clint he can’t speak for, as they don’t talk about their pasts much. It makes sense, now. Why Thor’s smiled a little less ever since coming back to Earth since 2013. Why Jane Foster is so protective of him, these days.

 

            “Thor, I’m so – ” Steve starts, ever the good guy, but Thor raises a hand to stay him, shaking his head.

 

            “There is more.” Thor’s face has taken on the tired, world-weary look of the aged man, again. Tony wonders at it. “In the battle on Svartalfheim, Loki and I struggled against Malekith’s Kursed companion while Malekith made his escape to Earth. We fought well, and Loki saved my life, but the Kursed impaled him on the very sword Loki stabbed him with. In parting, as he fell, my _brother_ – ” Tony hears the fight in Thor’s words, as he does not allow this painful memory to get the better of him. “ – activated the wormhole-grenades held on the Kursed’s belt. The monster was sucked into oblivion.” Thor’s jaw sets, and he raises his chin as though in defiance of his next words. “Loki died with honor.”

 

            The words ring in Tony’s head, but he can’t believe them. Suddenly, the memory of a few months ago comes crashing down around his ears in excruciating clarity. First of all, Loki is _alive_. Tony doesn’t know what happened during that battle in Sv-whatever-heim, but he’s 99.9% sure the Loki he met a few months ago was not an illusion, not a ghost, not _anything_ but the _real_ Loki. Tony opens his mouth stupidly, to contradict Thor’s comment without thinking of how he’ll explain his way out of keeping his two random meet-ups with Loki a secret.

 

            “But it was only another trick.” Thor looks visibly relieved, at this, smiling wanly at his friends and their concerned faces. And Tony realizes it matters but it doesn’t matter, that Loki’s alive. Thor still lost his mom, and nothing will change that. “A week ago, Loki returned to Asgard.” Thor smiles at them with effort, and Tony knows he’s right about Thor still missing his mother, as thankful as he is to have his brother back. “He claimed he had faked his death, in order to slip away from an even greater threat. But he warns us that this threat now threatens Asgard and Midgard, and so emerged from the shadows. For Loki’s protection, no one but my father and I know of his return. He was sly enough to catch father alone, and to keep his return a secret from the court, who still believes him dead.” That last sentence, Tony can hear the pride in, and he grins reflexively as Thor smiles at him, catching a whiff of where this is going.

 

            “Earth, too, eh? Does that mean we all get to take a trip to Asgard in the name of defense and collaboration?” Tony snarks. He knows, as much as Asgard professes peace and equality with Earth, that the Asgardians don’t like mortals on their turf. Thor surprises him by beaming.

 

            “You are always clever, Man of Iron! Yes, my father has extended an invitation to the Avengers, as Midgard’s mightiest warriors, that some of you would come and speak with us concerning the threat posed to our two worlds.”

 

            There is a long pause. Then Clint whoops, springing up onto the table and Natasha rolls her eyes at him. Bruce and Steve are staring at Thor as though he just announced he won the Nobel Peace Prize. Tony just lets out a sharp laugh.

 

            “Well _that_ was unexpected. Odin finally pull that stick out of his ass?” Thor’s brows furrow at him and Tony grins, more.

 

            “My father rules the Nine Realms. He does not have a donkey with a stick in its anus.” Steve covers a snort, but shakes his head.

 

            “As good news as this is, we can’t all go. It’d leave Earth undefended.” He says, simply, and Tony looks towards the ceiling in thought.

 

            “Good point, Cap.” Tony concedes. “So, who wants to take a trip to an alien homeworld? Tony grins as Steve winces, and then Tony glances towards Bruce, who gives him an apologetic smile. “Nobody?” Clint is, of course, practically dancing (badly) on the table with joy, and Natasha is unreadable, as usual. Tony shrugs. “Count me in if you’d prefer to stay in your corner of the universe, Fearless Leader.” Steve gives him a Look and Tony counters with a charming smirk, leaning back in his seat and gesturing with his hand. “My suit would come in handy for a good impression, anyway, I’d think, since you Asgardians are all about armor. Is that a no, Bruce?” Bruce smiles at him, sheepishly.

 

            “I don’t think the Big Guy’s a fan of the Bifrost.” That startles a snort out of Tony, but he shrugs.

 

           “Hey, whatever floats his boat. I’ll take some notes on the science over there for you.” Bruce gives him a grateful look, and Tony smiles at him, knowing that Bruce’s curiosity about Asgard was probably on par with his own, even if Bruce would never take the risk of going, himself. The Hulk in literally alien territory was an intergalactic incident waiting to happen – or so Bruce thought, anyway. Tony, however, had always trusted him, especially after New York.

 

            (He knew who had been the one to save him from dying on impact with the ground, at the end.)

 

            “So that’s Cap and Bruce staying, Thor, me and Clint going… what about you, Natasha?” She stares at Tony for a moment before shrugging, and leaning back in her chair, ever poised.

 

            “Seems smart to divide it evenly, don’t you think? Three go, three stay. Works for me.” Her tone is neutral and unaffected, and Tony blows her a kiss.

 

            “I’ll bring you back a souvenir, sweetheart.” Natasha just deadpans at him, not rising to the bait like a _normal_ person would – because giving him what he wants is beneath her – and he grins at her.

 

            A trip to Asgard, hunh? See these aliens that think themselves gods be on equal footing in a discussion with ‘mere mortals’, drink their ale that Thor’s always going on about, poke around at their science and technology – or maybe their magic and knowledge, according to Asgard – flirt with some freakishly-strong alien women…

 

            This is going to be _fun_.

 


	2. These Stories Aren't Quite As Dr. Selvig Remembers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we are given a privileged glimpse of Thor and Loki’s childhood and adolescence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Dance a Little Dance
> 
> Chapter Two: These Stories Aren’t Quite As Dr. Selvig Remembers
> 
> Word Count: 4,558
> 
> [Total Word Count: 12,896]
> 
> Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
> 
> Pairing: Eventual FrostIron/IronFrost, if we can get there in one piece.
> 
> Warning: Language, violence, mean things done to children (is Odin considered an abusive parent?)
> 
> Spoilers: Norse mythology with creative license to fit it into the MCU. Specifically, the ones where Loki’s lips are sewn shut, the death of Baldur, and the origins of Hel, Jormungandr (a.k.a. the Midgard Serpent) and Fenrir.
> 
> Author: Kisnau
> 
> Date: Wednesday, January 21, 2015
> 
> Miscellaneous Notes: A bit of a break in the current storyline, but I feel these events are important to clarify~ :3
> 
> ALSO! All your comments and kudos and even seeing the hit count get so high (372?!) are wonderful and I've never felt such a warm and fuzzy welcome into writing for a fandom since YYH's heyday. <3
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH, MY LOVELY READERS~! I shall try to respond to every comment, and I love discussion, so feel free to leave one! Please don't be shy! :D

* * *

 

            Once, a long time before Sif was a respected warrior in her own right, before Mjolnir had been created, before Thor, Loki and the would-be Warriors Three had even grown halfway into adults – there was another child.

 

            This child – Sif – had long golden hair that fell to her knees, which the adult goddesses would praise and pamper and dress for her. Given she was not allowed to play with the boys, or even train for battle and not mere defense, Frigga took her under her wing and trained her in secret. Sif’s flaxen hair was pulled into a glorious high ponytail during these sessions, swept back and dancing through the air like a ribbon as she fought. Loki would often secretly watch these, jealous as he was for his mother’s attention. Only once did he mention to Thor what a good fighter Sif was, in retaliation to a comment from Thor about how useless women were in battle. Thor called his bluff, and Loki challenged him to see for himself.

 

            The next training session, Loki and Thor hid under Loki’s invisibility magic – imperfect, and so they concealed themselves in the shadows, nonetheless – and watched. Loki held a restraining arm on his brother so Thor would not break their secrecy, but it was unneeded. Thor remained still, attentive and awed, as he watched the two women fight. Frigga, he had always known as kind and gentle and strong, but she was before him as a demanding but calm teacher to the young Sif, who tried in earnest to land a hit. When the training was over, Thor burst from the shadows and proclaimed Sif was the finest female warrior he had ever beheld, and clasped her forearm with both of his in a gesture of equality and respect. Sif’s clothing was not armor, merely her dress of that day bound up so as not to trip her, and she blushed at the words. Frigga gazed at Thor with pride in her eyes, and Loki felt the bitter taste of jealousy sting in his throat.

 

            He had watched Frigga and Sif train for all these days, but had never dared reveal himself. And here, he had set up his own failure by bringing Thor, whose presence had Sif instantly smitten. Furthermore, Frigga’s eyes were full of affection for Thor’s progressive realization. Loki felt a stab of bitterness that it had not been Thor’s natural inclination to believe such a thing. No, it had been Loki’s idea, but as always it was stolen by Thor. Everything he valued was stolen by Thor. Feeling prickly with pain and deciding to channel it elsewhere, Loki strode forward with a laugh, eyes sharp and tone haughty.

 

            “Oh, yes, a fine warrior you make, Sif! But your golden hair is an open target! Allow me to remedy that!” Loki sneered this, jerking his hand to the side as though to cut, two fingers pressed together. There was a glimmer of green magic, and a neat line sliced off Sif’s glorious ponytail, making it fall to the ground. Her remaining hair now fell around her cheeks in a ragged, short cut. Everyone stared at Loki in shock for a moment, before Sif, upset, turned and ran away. Frigga frowned at him, but Loki didn’t notice, only reveled in the satisfaction of taking something important away from someone who would never see him – not after meeting _Thor._

 

            Thor, for his part, shouted in outrage and caught his brother by his collar, eyes angry and furious.

 

            “Brother! You will replace what you have taken!” Everyone knew Sif’s golden hair as the most wonderful in all of Asgard; even Thor. Loki smiled meanly at his brother.

 

            “How can I? I cannot weave gold from air.” Thor stewed at him for a moment, before Frigga interjected.

 

            “Go to Nidavellir and request that the sons of the dwarf Ivaldi fashion her new hair, fairer than her own before.” Loki jerked, looking up to his mother in shock, but her eyes were firm, her expression caught in a small frown of disappointment. Loki felt his throat tighten, at causing that expression.

 

            “But it’s _Thor’s_ fault –!” Frigga’s gaze hardened, silently declaring Loki should claim responsibility for his own actions, and Loki fell silent. He hung his head and mumbled an agreement to do as asked.

 

            Ivaldi welcomed Loki courteously, and set his sons to work. In addition to a new head of hair for Sif – dark and raven-like, calling to the night, and indeed would render her more beautiful than before – they crafted two other marvels. One was the ship of all ships, Skidbladnir, which could be shrunk, put into one’s pocket and always had a favorable wind. The other was the spear Gungnir, presented to Loki as a great gift for Odin. Allowing his royal entourage to hold the items in question, ever-curious Loki had it in mind to explore the caves of the dwarves more. He came upon a pair of adult brothers, Brokkr and Sindri, working at a forge. Loki called them over, and showed off the marvels his entourage carried. The brothers were duly impressed, and Loki gave them a troublemaker’s smile as he cuttingly remarked that he doubted they could make anything so wonderful. The brothers exchanged a look, and one asked what Loki would give them if he could. The young prince laughed, and dismissed the very idea, but countered with a suitable bet.

 

            “If you can, why I’ll give you my tongue!” The brothers considered him, and to Loki’s great shock they agreed to the bet. Not overly nervous – for what Ivaldi’s sons had fashioned were without equal! – Loki turned to go back to Asgard with his entourage, but sparked a bit of magic into the air. Two flies emerged from sparks of green nothingness; one the biting kind and controlled by magic and the other merely hovering so Loki could watch the brothers work.

 

            Seeing their skill even despite his young age – for Loki had watched Ivaldi’s sons work, as well – Loki directed the harmful fly to bite Sindri’s hand. Sindri jerked, and when he at last pulled his creation out of the fire, it was a live boar with golden hair. This was Gullinbursti, and it could run better than any horse, even over air and water.

 

            For the second item, Sindri placed a nugget of gold on the fire while Brokkr fed the flames. The fly bit Brokkr on the neck, causing his fingers to twitch, and when the gold was pulled out of the fire it had become the ring Draupnir. Every ninth night, eight rings would drip from this ring, each of equal weight.

 

           For the final item, Sindri put a lump of iron over the fire and told Brokkr they must be especially careful about this one, because there would be no room for mistakes, now. Feeling particularly vicious about the two brothers getting the best of _him_ , the _Silvertongue_ , Loki had his fly bite Brokkr’s eye. The blood half-blinded the dwarf, but he worked through it, hands on his work and unable to wipe it away. Sindri had fashioned the mighty hammer Mjolnir, which had but one flaw, as the handle was too short. This item would return to its wielder’s hand and never miss its mark.

 

            The brothers rejoiced at finishing their task, at proving the arrogant young prince wrong, and left for Asgard to collect their dues. Every child must learn their lessons, after all.

 

            In Asgard, Loki dismissed his fly spell and dreaded losing his precious tongue. So, he sought to think of a way to wriggle out of his side of the bargain.

 

            When the brothers arrived before Odin, the All-Father accepted their gifts with surprise and asked what the price would be for items so fine. Sindri spoke of Loki’s bet with them, and Odin’s eye hardened. He called for his younger son, and Loki emerged from the shadows beside the steps to the throne. Odin asked if it was true, that he had made this bet with the dwarves, and Loki said it was so, standing tall and regal for all his youth. Brokkr began to advance on him with a knife, but Loki continued to speak, calm and cool despite the situation.

 

            “However, you can only take my tongue if you leave me my tastebuds.” Furious at this response, Sindri accused Loki of lying to them to win such powerful items for Odin. Loki denied this, and Brokkr grabbed him by the collar in anger. Odin’s voice rang out over all of them, and his eye was steel as he watched his troublesome son.

 

            “Since you enjoy spinning words so much, we will take them from you.” For a moment, Loki was afraid Odin _would_ allow his tongue to be cut out, tastebuds or no. But Odin went on. “Your lips will be sewn shut for fifty years, as punishment. My Queen, fetch your needle and thread.”

 

            To Loki’s great horror and humiliation, Thor took this moment to make his entrance. His older brother glanced around the room, at Frigga’s sorrowful face as she returned with the requested needle and thread, at Brokkr and Sindri’s satisfied smiles.

 

            “What is happening?” Odin turned his eye to Thor, and in that moment Loki wished his brother had stayed away. Sif emerged after Thor, but not so close to the throne. She was a small figure against the people of the court, the gift of her dark brown hair already on her head, and pulled back by one of the courtiers into a simple braid. Loki was ashamed for this to be done in public, and tore his eyes away from her, to his father, eyes pleading.

 

            “Father, please no! Not like this! I can – ” But Odin only spoke over him, sparing Loki barely a few words and not even a glance.

 

            “You must learn your lesson, my son. Thor, help them hold your brother down.” Loki froze, knowing it was pointless. He had made his bed, and Odin would not allow him to flee from it.

 

 _Thor would have been forgiven._ His mind supplied viciously, unseeing as Brokkr moved forward to hold Loki’s shoulders down, pinning him on his back to the cold stone of the great hall. Thor tried to argue, but a clipped command from Odin silenced him, as well. Thor’s blue eyes were on his as he obeyed, confused and worried, but Loki looked away as his brother’s hands clasped around his shins, holding him still. Loki looked up as Sindri grinned down at him, the dwarf sitting on his stomach as a third reinforcement, ensuring Loki couldn’t move. He threaded the needle – it looked to be a magical thread, and Loki had eyes for magic.

 

            He knew it would last the fifty years. He wouldn’t be able to cut it before the time was up.

 

            “Come, little lying prince, let’s make you better company for a while.” Sindri’s grin was eager and motivated by scratched pride, and Loki shut his eyes tight with a whimper as the needle punctured his lower lip. He tried to turn his head away, but Sindri’s other hand came up to hold his chin in a vice-grip, not allowing the escape. For the first stitch or two, to cement the thread in his skin so the other stitches would not come undone, Loki held back his sobs. Sadly, he was young and weak and soon they leaked out, anyway. Thor’s hands on his legs gripped him tighter, and Loki was briefly glad his brother couldn’t see his face as Sindri sewed his mouth shut. It was agony as Sindri worked the needle through his lips, magic tingling along the holes in his skin in tandem with Odin’s decree that the punishment would last fifty years. Loki’s eyes never opened, and tears slid down his cheeks and over his temples as the torment continued.

 

            When Sindri was done, he and Brokkr declared their satisfaction at the substitution, and returned to Nidavellir. Loki’s public humiliation complete, Odin allowed Frigga to have her maids take Loki away to his room and tend to him. They padded gently at the blood on his chin from the puncture wounds, and cleaned him up as best they could. A few hours later, when his raw skin had healed around the injuries, they bathed him and changed his clothes. They didn’t speak to him; it wasn’t as though Loki could respond in kind. Thor came to see him, later, and rushed to hug him. Loki flinched, but allowed it. Thor muttered comforts in his ear and Loki sighed through his nose, catching the good intent. He allowed Thor to hold him. Frigga entered not long after, and swept her sons into her embrace. They stayed like that for a moment, as she explained quietly that Odin had no choice but to do what he did, since the dwarves had marched into Asgard in front of the entire court.

 

            Odin could not be seen as weak, not even in a matter concerning his own son.

 

            The fifty years were a long time for Loki, who had only been 400 at the time of the incident. He didn’t eat during this time, and so grew weak and pale, but never strayed close to death. When he was 450, the threads his mouth had healed around glowed and disappeared. His mouth was sensitive, and Loki could only just bear to eat and drink small amounts; so unlike the huge plates and gallons Thor devoured. The scars took fifty more years to fade, and that was only because Frigga used her healing magic on them, every day. She had said something quietly, like “A foolish mistake does not deserve a lifetime of punishment,” and waved off Loki’s concerned eyes about Odin finding out she had helped heal him, “I will deal with your father, if he raises the question.”

 

            It took some time for him to remember how to talk, after so long. But his mind had never dulled; if anything, Loki had grown more careful with his words, but not in the way Odin intended. He no longer spoke what he felt, having learned it was better to play neutral and unaffected. Words were powerful things, and to be respected. He _had_ learned a lesson; to be a better liar, to ensure he always had a way out of a conversation, and to not foolishly accept a proposal, no matter how unlikely it seemed to happen. Before, he had been known as the Silvertongue, and only after this ordeal did Loki begin to truly build his reputation as the God of Lies and Deception.       

 

            One didn’t always need to lie in order to deceive, after all.

 

* * *

 

            Odin and Frigga had had a son before Thor, of course. His name was Baldur, and he was some years older than Thor. When Thor had been born in 914 AD (and Loki, later in 964 AD), Baldur was already 300 years old. He was a favorite of the court, and someone Thor looked up to throughout all of Loki’s childhood. Baldur was everything light, pure and beautiful about the world. Frigga smiled more when he was around, and Thor did his best to live up to his older brother’s battle prowess.

 

            When they were old enough, Odin explained to Thor and Loki that Baldur had refused the throne. He enjoyed simply existing too much to carry the weight of the Nine Realms on his shoulders. Thus, when telling the story of the war against the Frost Giants to defend Midgard, Odin promised Thor and Loki – respectively 600 and 550 years old – that one day the throne would fall to one of them. Thor would earn Mjolnir a few centuries later – when he was 1000 – to everyone’s great pride.

 

            Baldur was not with them, after that. He died, of course, but no one had seen it coming. Frigga had long ago heard from the Norns that Baldur’s death was unavoidable, but still had done everything in her power to prevent it from coming true. Frigga had made everything in existence swear not to harm Baldur, and this oath was taken seriously by all that had sworn it. The gods of Asgard found it endlessly amusing to throw anything they could find at Baldur, after this, since nothing could harm him.

 

            It was Loki who did it. Oh, not on purpose, of course. He had been walking around the outskirts of Asgard, talking to the flora about his indestructible brother Baldur, and a small mistletoe bush spoke up. It told him Frigga had not extracted an oath from it to do no harm to Baldur, and intrigued, Loki cut off a branch of the bush and fashioned it into an arrow. He didn’t really believe something so small and weak could harm Baldur, but thought it would be interesting to give it a test, nonetheless.

 

            Back in Asgard, he placed the arrow in the quiver of one of the gods taking part in the usual game of throwing things at Baldur, then sat back and watched. When the mistletoe arrow was drawn, Loki’s sharp eyes paid attention to its path as it soared through the air, grazing Baldur’s arm. To everyone’s surprise, it drew a slash of blood and Baldur screamed, clapping a hand to the wound as he collapsed. Frozen, Loki watched as the gods crowded around his brother before a wail of anguish went up from the group.

 

            Loki had killed him. No one knew the truth, but Loki knew that he was the one who had caused it, even if indirectly.

 

            They burned Baldur, and his wife Nanna threw herself upon the flames of his funeral pyre. Their son, Forseti, looked on, stone-faced as his parents disappeared into the fire. Loki felt horrible guilt, but he could not say a word.

 

* * *

 

            Remembering Odin’s wishes for peace with Jotunheim, Loki departs soon after to be an ambassador. He is only 800 years old, but he cites grief and wishing to do some good in a world where Baldur no longer exists. He is haunted by his guilt, and gives into a base way to rid himself of it.

 

            It is over the next 150 years that Angrboda works closely with Loki in an attempt to establish ties between Asgard and Jotunheim that are not forged by war, and she gives him three children; the wolf Fenrir, the child Hela and the serpent Jormungandr. When the children are revealed to him, Loki is shocked at how Angrboda tells him she managed this. Fenrir is from the boiling resentment Loki keeps hidden in his heart against Thor, Hela is borne of his apathy, and Jormungandr is his enormous cunning personified. Loki accuses her of using him to get to the throne of Asgard and Angrboda smirks lazily at him and tells him to ‘be a good father’. Loki kills her for her betrayal of his trust and takes his children into his arms. Tricks are all well and good, but this is different. Loki doesn’t know what to do.

 

            Fenrir is nothing more than a puppy scratching at his shins, whining to be picked up. Hela is a toddler clutching to his shirt as he holds her. Jormungandr is not so large, yet, but Loki can see the energy crackling along his scales and knows the python-size snake hanging around his neck and off his shoulders will one day be a giant. Loki loves them, would protect them at all costs, but he is dismayed at the possible scandal in Asgard, if only because it would hurt his family more than himself, who is already hated. Nonetheless, he returns home secretly with his children and tells Frigga of Angrboda’s betrayal. With her dead, he cannot leave them in Jotunheim alone. In retrospect, it was perhaps a foolish move for him to kill her. Heimdall does not see them in Jotunheim, does not see them as they sneak in through one of Loki’s secret passageways, but once they are in Asgard Loki knows it is only a matter of time before Heimdall senses them. These children are too powerful to ever be safe. And surely enough, Odin storms in during his plea for Frigga to help, and Loki is shocked and dismayed at the harsh judgment to come.

 

            Odin takes the children from him, refusing to acknowledge them as part of his family despite Frigga’s and Loki’s visible distress. Odin calls them a ‘shame you will never overcome, my son’, and Loki seethes because how _dare_ Odin speak as though Loki were ashamed of his own children? Only later does Loki realize this is but the first step into a hole where Odin will always look down upon him. This is the first major offense Loki has committed and Thor doesn’t know, he is off fighting somewhere, or celebrating (aren’t they the same thing?), and Frigga holds Loki as he strains to pull the little ones back into his arms. She knows there is no changing Odin’s mind, and Loki _understands_ this, but he didn’t expect to be found out so soon, nor for it to hurt so much.

 

            Hela, Odin relegates to Helheim as its Princess – and then Queen, once she is old enough – as one side of her body is an unsightly Jotun blue, and one eye is red (including the sclera). She ages too quickly and Loki blames the Jotun blood and magic in her veins. Jotuns age quickly – they must, otherwise all their infants would succumb to the harsh elements of their own land. Later, Loki realizes later, with horror, as he discovers his true origins that Hela never had a chance to ‘age normally’. Due to Odin’s glamour on him for so many years, Loki is a hybrid; half-Aesir, half-Jotun. Having a Jotun mother, Hela is thus three-quarters Jotun. Thus, it is really no surprise that by 2014 in Midgard, Hela is comfortably ensconced as an adolescent Princess in Helheim. Odin is the most gentle in his punishment to Hela, actually – he has made her the eventual ruler of the Nine Realms, as everything must one day die. Everything will come to Hela, in death, and she will give it judgment. Loki suspects it is because she is the most Aesir-looking of his three children. The Jotun details can be dismissed, apparently, when one takes into account her brothers’ natural forms are that of beasts. Odin’s prejudice towards the Aesir is keenly felt, and later Loki will be grateful that his status as a hybrid of two beings helped his daughter curry Odin’s favor. In retrospect, if she had had the entire body of a Jotun, Loki doubts the All-Father would have been so lenient.

 

            Jormungandr, Odin flings through time, aging him as Jormungandr passes back through the eons and dropping him into the sea of Midgard; the now-ancient and gigantic serpent wraps around Earth, bites his own tail, and holds the planet together. He serves as a barrier between Midgard and Jotunheim, to prevent travel from the latter to the former. This action would essentially make pointless Odin’s battle with the Frost Giants if Jormungandr is sent to Midgard before 964 AD, and so Odin is careful to place him there only _after_ the battle, so no paradoxical universes can crop up from this addition to the timeline. When Jormungandr releases his own tail, the world will end. A strange and slightly unsettling realization for Loki is that his own son is now double his age; due to Jormungandr traveling back through time to 964 AD, and then living through those same years that already aged him. When Odin does this, it is 1914 AD in Midgard, and Loki is 950 years old. Jormungandr, born in 1914, is 1,900 years old.

 

            Fenrir is cursed with the fate of killing Odin, but Loki is relieved at least that Odin does not kill his son, outright. Instead, Odin addresses the court of the gods and announces that this wolf – not his grandson, no, of course not, merely a creature loosened upon the realms, inhuman and power-hungry – is growing too fast and too dangerous to be free. Loki bitterly attributes this to Fenrir’s Jotun mother and his own magical influence. Odin enlists the help of the dwarves in creating a rope strong enough to bind him. Fenrir, for all his infancy, smells something is amiss and does not agree to be bound. Loki intervenes without revealing his relationship to his son, and suggests a god could put a hand in Fenrir’s mouth. If the bindings hold, Fenrir will bite and take the hand as vengeance for being bound. If they do not hold, Fenrir will not bite and seek his escape, and the gods shall not try to bind him again. It seems a fair deal, and Loki is half-hoping no one will volunteer. But, no – Tyr is the one who steps forward, and the rope of the dwarves holds. Fenrir bites off Tyr’s hand – a last, bitter statement of revenge, giving some relief to the rage living in him, that should not be Fenrir’s to bear. Tyr’s hand does not grow back, but he is respected for his self-sacrifice, all the same. No one knows that Fenrir is Loki’s son, and Loki is forced to do nothing as he feels Odin’s eyes on him. Loki knows he should be grateful Odin is not killing Fenrir when it is foretold Fenrir will be Odin’s end, but it still tastes like poison in the back of Loki’s throat as those innocent, puppy-like eyes gaze up at him mournfully from a dangerous, overgrown form as Fenrir is taken away.

 

            Some of these stories make it into Norse myth, because Loki steps into time while protecting himself from aging against it as he goes back. The Vikings, at least, will know of Loki’s children for what they are. He tells the human children stories in the form of an old woman, and invents a story about ‘the god Loki’ sleeping as a mare with a stallion and bearing a foal. It makes the mortals laugh and throws off any suspicions they might have over his identity. For why would proud, powerful Loki tell a story that demeaned him in such a way? He mentions Thor and Odin, as well, and to his irritation the Vikings take to the bloodthirsty tales as though they are the epitome of nobility. Loki does not hide his disdain for their bloodlust, but the disapproval of an old woman – as he dare not reveal himself – does not do much to stem youthful vigor. This he knows well, being Thor’s brother. And while Loki is not a physically feeble old woman with a mind sharp as a tack, he can relate to someone not taking him seriously because he cannot physically force them to comply. Oh, and he _could_ – his true strength far outweighs that of the mortals around him – but that would blow his cover. So, Loki sits patiently and watches the Vikings pillage and plunder – just like Thor and his companions – before moving on to another village. He does this for a while before growing bored and returning to Asgard in the early 1900s of Midgardian time.

 


	3. How Not To Piss Off A God-King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So now Thor is home, and Tony and Clint are already bearing the roles of honored warrior-diplomats for this strategic defense interplanetary conference. Loki’s there, too, acting just as weird as ever and Tony notices he feels generally off-beat to Asgard’s steady drum. But the real oddball is the king himself, who – given how much Tony’s heard of Odin’s wrath, his dislike of mortals, and the recent loss of his queen – is as cold and calculating as any businessman with whom Tony’s had to deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Dance a Little Dance
> 
> Chapter Three: How Not To Piss Off A God-King
> 
> Word Count: 4,631
> 
> [Total Word Count: 17,527 ]
> 
> Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
> 
> Pairing: Eventual FrostIron/IronFrost, if we can get there in one piece.
> 
> Warning: Language, violence, technical malfunctions
> 
> Spoilers: Incorporates everything in the main storyline up to the ending of “Thor: The Dark World”. Also, Tony still has the shrapnel, electromagnet and arc reactor in his chest.
> 
> Author: Kisnau
> 
> Date: Wednesday, February 11, 2015
> 
> Miscellaneous Notes: I wrote all of this back in January, but have been staggering the updates. Haven’t written anything new for this fic, yet. Part of that is due to me getting a concussion, so – under doctor’s orders – I’ve been trying to take it easy on both the physical and mental activities, but I figured a few days before Valentine’s was a good time to post this. :3
> 
> Hopefully I’ll be able to write more, soon! In the meantime, please do enjoy this chapter~

* * *

 

            Soon – but not soon enough, as Tony’s thinking of Pepper on her way over to rant at him and take over responsibility for Stark Industries yet _again_ – the three of them are standing atop the Tower, suited up and ready to go with their bags. Tony figures he might as well go for the whole Asgard experience, so he’s got just his briefcase suit on, and some T-shirts, a pair of jeans and ‘Earth necessities’ in the bag. The packing is mostly due to Jarvis’ recommendations and Steve, who’s still seeming a bit leery about the whole situation. But Tony trusts Thor, and he knows conferences. He doesn’t think this will take more than a few days unless some serious shit goes down, so the Armani ensemble he’s wearing under the suit should suffice to make a good impression.

 

            Clint’s packing light, too. There are a few things Tony’d packed, himself – like a Stark tablet and the portable arc-reactor-powered energy source he can use to charge it, in addition to a back-up reactor for his chest, just in case. Alien homeworld or no, Tony’s pretty sure Asgard’s electricity isn’t regulated enough to supply delicate Earth-made devices with their needed juice (he’s seen Thor in action, after all), and Tony’s never done well disconnected from technology for very long. It’ll also be an excellent chance to test the multi-world communicators he’d been toying with. Pepper’s got one, and if it works Tony will be telling her, himself, that he’s safely landed in Asgard.

 

            More importantly, as Thor raises his hammer towards the sky and calls for Heimdall, Tony wonders why Loki let his brother think he was dead. Sure, it seemed it was a while ago, but that’s no excuse for Thor’s guilt-stricken face about not telling them Loki was dead. Thor had been grieving. But what had possessed Loki to come back? The two times Tony saw him in Malibu, Loki hadn’t seemed desperate. In fact, he’d seemed anything but.

 

            Had Loki _really_ been on vacation? If he was a fugitive, knowing he was just barely escaping Asgardian (and Earth) justice, wouldn’t he have been in hiding? Or had Loki _known_ Tony was in Malibu, and chosen that place specifically on the off-chance he’d run into Tony? But why would Loki do something like that? Why would Loki _want_ to run into him? Why had Loki stayed perfectly calm, in that coffee shop, fully aware it was Iron Man who was walking up to him? Tony knew Clint had said something about Loki pulling information from his head. Had Loki pulled _that_ information? Did he have a rough idea of the backgrounds of the Avengers – at least, as much as Clint knew? The thought was disturbing.

 

            Tony’s musings were cut short as the Bifrost opened around them, and they were sucked into the tunnel of space. He was thankful for the armor around him as they encountered turbulence and Clint clutched to Thor’s muscled arm like it was a lifeline. Who knows, maybe it was. What happened if someone fell out of the Bifrost between planets, anyway?

 

            His suit’s sensors were going crazy as they recorded the energy waves around him, the screen scrambling from static and overload of energy. Unexpectedly, the electricity surged into the arc reactor from the suit, seeking an outlet for the overload and Tony felt his chest tighten as the arc reactor’s energy swelled beyond safe levels. This wasn’t the 400% he’d gotten when Thor tried his hammer on him. This was 1000%, all around him - it hurt – it _ached_ , and he shook involuntarily as the extra electricity sang along his nerves like an electrocution as some of it leaked out of the arc reactor. Thor noticed the shaking before Clint did, and Tony tried to wave him off, but then they were landing and Tony stumbled forward onto solid ground as the suit buckled from the sudden absence of power, the blindingly bright HUD screen flickering before going black. He had the time to think _oh, shit, fuck, I should’ve quadrupled instead of tripled the layers of failsafes and surge protectors_ before his momentum took him forward after the initial landing. The knees in the suit wouldn’t bend, and Tony flinched as the floor hit him straight-on, thankful for the armor even as it left a good dent in the floor of whatever magnificent gateway they’d just entered.

 

            “Tony?! Hey, man, what’s – ” Clint.

 

            “Man of Iron?” Thor.

 

            But lying face-down in a blacked-out suit wasn’t really his style, _so_ :

 

            “Uh. Little help here? Technical malfunction.” Tony could have sworn a lilting, arrogant voice chuckled in his ear. It didn’t come from anyone behind him, more from… the floor?

 

            _Performance issues?_

 

            That voice was a little _too_ familiar.

 

Tony cursed his unresponsive suit and wondered, not for the first time, if it all was just Loki screwing with him for the hell of it. Then, there were hands on him – probably Thor’s – pulling him and his dead weight of armor up with surprising strength.

 

* * *

 

            The suit wouldn’t boot back up, and Tony loudly protested Thor just ripping it off him, piece by piece. The arc reactor was doing fine, oddly enough, and Tony was suspicious as to why. It had been overloaded with too much electricity, so it shouldn’t be running, much less acting normally. It should’ve shorted out; not that Tony was complaining. Since the suit wouldn’t connect with the power source, though, Tony had to guess that the connections between the suit and the reactor had been severed. Maybe it had even saved his life. Regardless, once they had him standing – courtesy of Thor’s steadying hand on one of his shoulders – Tony told Clint about the small release hatch hidden in the back of the suit’s left calf. What was within was for emergencies only, as it was a special tool that would enable him to manually extract himself from his suit in the event the suit lost all power. The release wasn’t electronic, either, so it couldn’t be compromised. Once they’re somewhere less exposed than the gateway of the Bifrost, Tony will tell Clint to get it out so he can get out of this nonfunctioning suit.

 

            Someone – he can’t exactly see through the lifeless black screen of his HUD – mentions that it does no good to block the entrance to the Bifrost like this, but Tony just rolls his eyes and says it’ll literally take a minute. They’re not supposed to meet with Odin until tomorrow, anyway. The suit is unwieldy without power, and that’ll take about a day to fix if he can find the shorted circuits and repair them before hooking up his extra reactor to test how it runs. After Tony tells Clint to click the manual release on the faceplate and it slides up into the top of the helmet like it’s supposed to, Tony feels a stare. Tony looks up, and locks eyes with the Keeper – Heim-something, Tony thinks it was. Whoever he is, the man is tall and imposing. He is stone-faced, and his eyes are pale yellow, seeming to almost be glowing with the energy of the Bifrost itself. It’s beyond unnerving, but Tony’s never been very good at keeping his mouth shut, anyway.

 

            “Those’re some eyes you’ve got, uh.” His sentence gets cuts off as the man stares unemotionally at him – wait, he _is_ a man, right? Not some weird carved-stone-given-life kind-of gatekeeper? Not that there’s anything _wrong_ with that…

 

            “Man of Iron.” Thor asks, firmly driving the conversation away from Tony’s awkwardness, and Tony looks at him. “What do you require of us?” Thor is serious when he asks.

 

            After trying to lighten the mood by asking for a good scotch, Tony sighs. He admits that it’s going to take a minute to manually detach the suit from around him, and afterwards it’ll take some time to recalibrate it all. Theoretically, it _should_ all go back into its dormant briefcase-form, but if the circuits are fried then Tony knows he’s screwed. Still, he’s not ready to give up on his own handiwork that easily. Tony tells Thor point-blank that he’ll need a place to work, and Thor smiles. Thor admits they had given Clint and Tony their own rooms in the palace, and that Tony’s was one of the few that leads to a separate, hidden room. Clint immediately whines about the unfairness of this, and Thor casts him an amused look, asking if Clint would prefer the Iron Man technology get poked over by the maids that will clean their rooms, without Tony’s permission. Tony huffs a chuckle, at that, and is steadily trying to ignore the claustrophobia trying to set in from being trapped in his own suit.

 

            They get underway soon enough, Clint hanging off Thor’s back like a monkey so he doesn’t fly off and one of Tony’s armored shoulders held in Thor’s firm grip. Thor’s other hand rises above their heads with Mjolnir, and they take off for the palace with a predictable peal of thunder (seriously, Asgard, points for great sound effects). The Bifrost sparkles beneath them, and Tony can at least move his head to see the glittering expanse as it shoots by.

 

* * *

 

            They fly through the window in Tony’s room, first, and Thor goes to the vanity in the opposite corner, upon which various baubles sit with what looks like a good layer of dust. He picks one of these up. It is a crystal hexagon at the bottom, the sections leading to a fine point at the top. It is no more than three inches tall, maybe. Thor smiles as he lifts it, showing it to them, and strides two steps to the side. He sweeps a curtain aside from the wall, and neatly slots the point of the crystal into a suspiciously hexagon-shaped carving in the stone.

 

            _How predictable_ , Tony thinks dryly as part of the wall shimmers into nonexistence, but shakes it off as Thor turns to pick him up and carry him through the doorway. Clint follows, and Tony notices that this ‘hidden room’ is really nothing more than a barren closet. The walls are a lazy, natural white, and there is only one table – too small to serve as a worktable – and a stool off to the side. There are no windows, but the ceiling seems to glow with a clear yellow light that reminds Tony of candles or the old kind of lightbulbs. Thor sets him down facing the door they just came through, and Tony’s eyes widen as he notices the crystal from the other side of the wall is in the exact same position, only inside the room, now. Thor laughs as Clint sets to work unhooking Tony’s right shoulder from the armor, and explains.

 

            “A security measure, Man of Iron. The crystal senses when someone passes through the doorway and shifts to the proper side. You cannot be locked in, or locked out, against your will.” Tony stares at him.

 

            “Well, wasn’t _that_ thoughtful of the makers of this place.” Thor smiles.

 

            “I will tell my father we have arrived, and that you, my friends, shall meet with him on the morrow, as planned. I wish you luck in repairing your suit. Eye of Hawk, when your assistance is no longer required, there will be someone waiting outside to show you to your room.” Thor nods to them, then turns and leaves. After a few minutes, Clint’s wrangled Tony’s backpack containing his change of clothes and supplies off of him. Then, Clint is following Tony’s directions exactly in order to retrieve the emergency tool in the back of the suit’s left calf. Soon enough, Tony’s right arm is free and he sighs in relief as it falls to the stone floor with a loud clang. It’s not broken, of course; the metal alloy is too tough to get a dent just from gravity. The mechanism for the arm kicks in as Clint and Tony watch it on the floor. The metal separates the wrist from the rest of the arm, and said arm scuttles in towards the center from both ends until it is only a metal ring resembling a red roll of duct tape, with the layers neatly pressed together inside. The gauntlet twirls its fingers into the scale-like things its made up of, a small ball resembling a fist without fingers all that remains when all the layers have reverted to their dormant state.

 

            Clint looks up from the floor and asks if Tony needs any more help. Tony can see he’s dying to explore the castle – probably find some nests, while he’s at it, too. Besides, Tony’s not exactly proud of the way his tech failed so spectacularly on the way over here, and he’d prefer to nurse his pride in private. So he holds out his free hand out for the emergency tool, and waves Clint off to his waiting manservant.

 

            “Nah, I’ve got this.” Clint shrugs and leaves, and Tony is left alone to a long night of manually removing his armor.

 

* * *

 

            It really only takes a couple hours for Tony to finish, and he collapses in a heap next to the few parts he’d not yet attached to the bigger briefcase puzzle. Once in their dormant state, the parts fit together exceptionally well, electricity shorted out or no. He’d camped out on the floor to avoid any possible falls from unwieldy equipment, and removed the helmet, neck plating, chest plate and the other arm, first. He’d discarded the Armani jacket over top of the table, trying to avoid wrinkling it. Pepper would want him to make a good impression, after all. He laid the collared shirt and tie over top of it, and pulled on one of his T-shirts from his backpack instead. Next, he’d set to getting the legs of the armor off, including his shoes. Upon finally freeing his feet, Tony wriggled his toes in their socks and discarded the matching Armani pants, as well, favoring a relaxed fit pair of jeans. His mind was wound too tight from the careful work it’d taken to remove everything. Sure, some of his other suits were designed to come off easier, but this one was more portable and Tony honestly hadn’t thought that the Bifrost would mess up his electronics, when it’d handled Mjolnir all right. It was a miscalculation that he’d have to remember for the future.

 

            Tony wanders out of his room and notices it’s dark outside. He hadn’t thought it was that late, but maybe the days in Asgard are shorter than the ones on Earth. The halls are high and in the light of the torches Tony can see the glimmer of gold. Having never been in want of money, it doesn’t appeal to him in the way it might a poorer man. Still, it is very nice to look at and Tony walks with his neck craned back until he trips over something soft lying in the walkway. He nearly falls, but catches himself in time and looks around as one of the shadows moves, rising.

 

            It’s Loki, a book in one hand and looking concerned but princely in what must be his royal clothes. Tony notices a scuff mark on the bottom edge of his cloak and guesses that’s what he’d tripped over. Tony steps back from Loki’s outstretched hand and polite apology. Tony’s face is hard and he doesn’t answer. He remembers the last time they saw each other. Still he sees a flicker of confusion on Loki’s face, before it’s masked by a pleasant smile.

 

            “Tony Starkson. I had heard from my brother that you had arrived safely. I’m glad.” There’s a niggling edge of doubt poking at Tony, and he frowns a little, but focuses on the conversation, instead.

 

            “Yeah. That Bifrost is one hell of a roller coaster ride.” Loki’s face is neutral enough that Tony knows he has no idea what he’s talking about, and that makes him feel a vicious little stab of superiority. Riding it, he continues, almost snapping. “So, what’re you doing back here? Some Big Bad hovering over your shoulder, so you run crying home? Pretty risky considering Odin threw you into a cell, last time.” Loki’s eyes shutter themselves, and his smile is suddenly much more congenial and aloof.

 

            “I trust my father’s judgments.” Loki recites faithfully, as though he’s long practiced this. “What he did, he did for the good of Asgard.”

 

            “And faking your death in front of Thor, was that for ‘the good of Asgard’, too?” Tony shoots back at him, blatantly interrupting the bullshit. Loki pauses, and eyes him searchingly for a moment, but no other emotion touches his face.

 

            “It was necessary.” He enunciates carefully, eyes flicking over Tony’s face. “I was weakened from my long imprisonment, and Thor was hardly subtle in our escape. Other eyes were watching. I needed those eyes to see me dead.” It sounds simple. Too simple. It still doesn’t explain why Loki had been on Earth. Why he’d looked so _comfortable_ , in that coffee shop. Why he’d been masquerading as a woman in a club; experimenting. Why would Loki run back to _Earth_ , of all places? Surely ‘those eyes’ – if they had anything to do with the Chitauri and the attempted invasion, back in 2012 – would still be on Earth, seeking out another weakness. Instead of asking the question he wants to know, though, Tony opts for a better one.

 

            “Why’d you wait two years to come back?” Tony knows it hasn’t been two years since he last saw Loki. If anything, it’s been the better part of a year since their little accidental tryst. But to Thor, it _has_ been two years. And Tony knows Thor’s no diplomat, and isn’t good at lying, but surely Loki could’ve trusted _someone_. Loki smiles, and Tony can see the lie a mile away, so he cuts him off as Loki goes to answer.

 

            “There were – ”

 

            “And why’d you pick Earth? Or were the other planets’ clubs just not up to snuff?” The look Loki gives him is one of pure bafflement, and for a moment Tony thinks he’s misstepped. Maybe that night didn’t happen, after all. There’s no record of it, anyway. Maybe it was just his fucked-up imagination and too much liquor –

 

            “Starkson.” There’s the chink of metal against stone and Tony turns. Expecting the inevitable but not wanting it to be true – no, yep, there are two guards. Maybe picking a fight with one of Odin’s sons in the middle of a hallway hadn’t been such a good idea. Tony glances to Loki for help, but the damn Trickster’s vanished. The guards don’t look all that intimidating, though, and maybe that’s a good thing. Tony sums up his bravado – painfully aware he’s in only a T-shirt, jeans and socks – and shoots them a cocksure smile.

 

            “What can I do for you, boys?” The guards are unaffected, but nod towards him in respect.

 

            “The All-Father requests your presence for a private audience.” Tony’s brows and curiosity peak; the latter is the only thing keeping him from giving a snide retort.

 

            “Well, who am I to keep him waiting?” The guards nod again. Upon reflecting, it’s probably not a good idea to piss off the King of Asgard while in his kingdom – much as Tony would like to see Odin’s face turn red. He has to wonder if Odin would look more like Santa or Howard, at that point.

 

            “Please follow us, Sir Starkson.” They turn back the way they’d come, and start off at a good pace. Tony follows them more leisurely, taking his time to drink in the sights of the palace as they pass through its many halls and lit torches.

 

* * *

 

            Tony’s expecting to be led to the throne room, but the room the guards shoo him into is more a private meeting chamber than the echoing halls he’d expected. Odin is sitting in a chair almost as regal as his throne; and if not, at least made in the same vein. The king gives him a slight inclination of his head in respect, and gestures to a chair only marginally less ornate than his own.

 

            “Starkson.” Tony doesn’t bother correcting him – hey, it’s better than ‘Howardson’, anyway – and plops into the indicated chair, humoring him.

 

            “Odin.” They size each other up, for a moment, until Odin breaks the silence, his voice only just pleasant.

 

            “I see you are no longer wearing your armor. It is reparable? Thor had mentioned an unforeseen complication, on your journey over the Bifrost.” Tony gives his most socially lubricated smile.

 

            “Nothing to worry about. I built it, I’ll fix it. It’s what I do.” Tony offers, civilly. Odin’s one eye is still watching him, assessing.

 

            “You fix things, on Midgard?” Tony shrugs, reclining into his chair, arms folding behind his head; the picture of relaxed confidence.

 

            “Build new things, mostly. Tinker with older ones.” Odin watches him, and Tony feels a shiver through his heart, like the king is seeing more than he lets on.

 

            “Your history is of iron and smoke.” Odin states in a vague voice, and Tony calmly meets his eye. But Odin’s looking past him – not in the creepy way of a moment before, but well and truly _past_ him, away from the present. Odin continues, before Tony can think to stop him. “Fire and pain. You lost – ”

 

            “Is there a _point_ to this meeting, Odin All-Pappy, or can I _go_ now?” Tony starts in a sharp, warning tone and Odin’s eye refocuses on him. The creases at the corner of that eye crinkle, although Odin doesn’t smile.

 

            “I have the power to return something that was taken from you, Tony Starkson.” Tony stops short, and frowns at Odin. He still thinks on his feet, though, and doesn’t miss a beat.

 

            “You don’t have anything I want.” Tony states, flatly, waving a dismissive hand towards Odin and trying to reroute the conversation even as his mind falls upon a million possibilities.

 

            Howard.

 

            No, Maria.

 

            Yinsen.

 

            His heart, free of shrapnel and whole.

 

            Not Obadiah. Obadiah as he _used_ to be, however…

 

            No. Still, _no._ This is fucked up in so many ways.

 

            Now, Odin _does_ smile behind his beard, almost like he knows what Tony’s thinking.

 

            Well, _damn_ , maybe he does _._ Tony puts on his best poker smile.

 

            “Nothing I want.” Tony insists, telling himself the past should stay in the past.

 

            “I will not resurrect one of your dead, Tony Starkson.” Odin states in what is almost an amused tone, and Tony feels his heart sink as Odin ignores Tony’s attempts to shush his own id. “For that, you would need to venture to Helheim, and ask such of its Queen. No.” Odin’s eye glitters, and he points at Tony’s chest. Tony doesn’t need to look down to know it’s the arc reactor he indicates.

 

            “I can make you whole again. Return your portable glowing sphere to being the energy marvel it was always meant to be, not merely that which keeps you alive.” Tony lifts his head, chin up, and square-on frowns at Odin.

 

            “You can’t. I’ve tried. The doctors opened me up and couldn’t operate—”

 

            “I do not refer to external healing methods, Tony Starkson.” Odin interrupts him softly, and Tony opens his mouth to protest when Odin holds up a hand, palm up, and a golden apple, hale and whole and shimmering with more light than any fruit has a right to hold appears floating in the air above Odin’s crooked fingers. Tony’s stunned into silence. When Thor and Loki had first appeared, he did basic research on Norse legends, and now some of it comes back to him, in Jarvis’ posh, clinical tone.

 

            _The golden apples of Idunn._

 

            “Yes.” Odin offers quietly. The apple spins slowly above Odin’s palm and Tony can’t help but watch it. “I offer you a bite, Tony Starkson; only a bite, but such is more than enough to repair the damage to your heart. It is a greater boon than any mere mortal deserves.” With a wave of Odin’s hand, the apple and its light disappears and Tony finds himself blinking spots out of his eyes. When his vision refocuses, he knows the smile on Odin’s face has pulled into a smug smirk beneath that snow-white beard. “Still, I offer it to you.” And Tony can’t help but think, in a mafia tone of voice, _I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse._ “You have proven yourself in battle alongside my son, were willing to sacrifice yourself to destroy the Chitauri fleet, and are one of the most tenacious mortals I have observed in my long vigil watching over the Nine Realms.”

 

            “Thanks.” Tony blurts, still over-thinking.

“This is more than any god hath given a mortal.” And Tony frowns a little at the inherent superiority in that statement. He’s almost wanting to refuse, on principle, at this blatant attempt at manipulation, or bribery, or whatever-it-is, but Odin merely stares at him. “What say you, Tony Starkson, of Midgard?” Tony hesitates, and then outright smirks in realization.

 

            “I say, what do you want in return?” Odin’s brows rise, and Tony knows he’s got him. Probably playing on humanity’s inherent greed, there – Odin thinking Tony would agree without reading the fine print. Tony’s smirk grows sharp, with teeth. “C’mon, I wasn’t born yesterday. If you’re gonna give out state secrets like _that_ , it must mean you want something pretty big in return. What is it? My arc reactor, once it’s ‘useless’? Got something you need to power, here in Asgard?” Odin’s beginning to look offended, and suddenly the king stands, his hands fisted at his sides.

 

            “Your _impudence_ , young mortal, will be your downfall.” Odin booms, his one eye burning furiously at Tony, who’s a little taken aback by the sudden mood-shift. Maybe this is where Loki gets it? “You must face three trials of my devising, and should you succeed, a bite of one of Idunn’s apples will be your reward, along with an honorary title as a warrior of Asgard. For what more, could you dare ask?” Tony stares at the incensed king, and after a beat, he stands, as well, hands spread to the side in a show of peace.

 

            “I don’t need your title.” Tony lifts one hand to his own chest, drawing it into a fist and pointing a thumb back at himself. “I fight for Earth, not Asgard. We’re _allies_ , Odin; you’re not better than us just because you guys live longer and are harder to kill.” Odin’s lip starts to curl, but Tony’s face is serious, as he extends that same hand, for a handshake. “Instead of fluffing my ego up, I say give me the bite and start treating us humans like we’re your _equal_ allies, instead of our ancestors who worshipped you as gods. We’ve come a long way since then, All-Pappy, and you’re not the only god out there, anymore.”

 

            Odin doesn’t look down at his hand, just stares at him, his mouth a thin, stubborn line, his jaw set.

 

            Tony smiles, wryly.

 

            “What do you think? Treat us like any of your other allies, and I’ll go through your tests.” Odin lifts his chin in a minutely haughty manner that reminds Tony of Loki, but reaches out to shake his hand, anyway. Odin’s grip is crushing, but Tony does his best to meet it. There are teeth behind each of their tight-lipped smiles.

 

            “Allies, then, Tony Starkson.”

 

            “You bet your fancy spear we are.”


	4. Tony Is Not The Only Asshole In The Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony’s mysterious agreement with Odin aside, the First Task isn’t quite what he predicted. He’s not really sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t seeing Howard’s judgmental mug after going over 20 years without. Also, his reads of Loki are all over the board; Tony’s not sure if the discordant behavior is on purpose, or if it’s something else entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Dance a Little Dance  
> Chapter Four: Tony Is Not The Only Asshole In The Room  
> Word Count: 5,018  
> [ Total Word Count: 22,545 ]  
> Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe  
> Pairing: Eventual FrostIron/IronFrost, if we can get there in one piece.  
> Warning: Language, adult themes, daddy issues, verbal abuse  
> Spoilers: Incorporates everything in the main storyline up to the ending of “Thor: The Dark World”. Also, Tony still has the shrapnel, electromagnet and arc reactor in his chest.  
> Author: Kisnau  
> Date: Wednesday, March 11, 2015  
> Miscellaneous Notes: I had to do some tweaking because I mixed up a few things, but everything’s sorted, now. Currently, the time in this fic (when Tony and Clint arrive in Asgard) is late January 2015. Thor was on Earth with Jane for Thurseblot (January 5, 2015), as he requested. The next Norse holiday is Disting (February 2), which will also be the celebratory feast that will kick off the intergalactic conference.
> 
> The timeline thus far:
> 
> March 2014: Tony heads to his Malibu home for some R&R (alone time) from Avengers Tower in NYC.  
> Early April 2014: Tony runs into Loki at the coffee shop.  
> Late April 2014: Loki and Tony meet up in the club.  
> May 2014: Still recovering from the club incident, Tony returns to NYC ‘to escape the LA summer heat’.  
> October 2014: Tony’s basically forgotten about the tryst by now.  
> November 2014: Thor arrives on Earth, after getting an indefinite sabbatical from Asgard.  
> November-December 2014: Tony considers telling Thor/The Avengers that he’s run into Loki.  
> Early January 2015: Loki arrives in Asgard.  
> Mid-January 2015: Muginn takes Thor back to Asgard.  
> Late January 2015: Thor returns to Earth. Tony & Clint then accompany him to Asgard.
> 
> Also, holy shit we’re at 945 hits, 50 kudos, 20 comments and 8 bookmarks. Just since January 1st! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, my lovelies! Feel free to comment and discuss, if you’d like! :D

* * *

 

            Tony ponders what kind of trials Odin has in store for him all the way back to his room. The guards take their leave, and Tony wanders through an archway he hadn’t noticed before, and does a double-take. Behind the screen, next to a huge golden bathtub, there is a maiden standing, and she pulls herself to attention immediately, eyes dropping as she curtsies respectively.

 

“Sir Starkson. Would you wish for me to draw you a bath?” Tony stares at her for a moment, then the bucket at her feet, then at the tub – with no trace of a spigot to be seen. He shakes his head. What is this, the Middle Ages?

 

            “You guys are gonna need some indoor plumbing.” He chews the inside of his cheek, in thought. Then Tony shrugs, and waves her off. “Nah, go ahead and leave. I’m good.” The maiden gives no outward sign of her relief, and nods again.

 

            “If you prefer, Sir Starkson, there are also the court’s public baths?” His ears perk, at that one, and he blinks at her.

 

            “You mean like in Rome?” She gives him an odd look and he grins, a little charmingly sheepish. “Sorry. Actually, that sounds pretty good. Where are they?” She inclines her head and bows respectively.

 

            “I will escort you.” Tony nods and makes to follow her – he could use some relaxation after the day he’s had; it’s not _too_ late, anyway.

 

            “Hey, could we find where Clint and Thor got to?” He asks, as they’re walking down the corridors, his eyes still taking in the vast expanse of the huge golden hall they’re currently passing through.

 

            “Sir Eye of Hawk retired to his room for the night, requesting not to be disturbed until morning.” Inwardly, Tony could already see Clint sneaking out to explore the castle and find himself roosts; a place with high ceilings like this must be candy to him. “The Crown Prince – ” Oh, right, Thor was that here, wasn’t he? “ – was summoned by the All-Father before your audience, M’lord, and I had heard he then retired to his chambers.”

 

            Tony jerked a little, at the title, and shook his head from behind her.

 

            “Hey, none of that. I’m just Tony, the mechanic; always have been, always will be.” He joked, and the maid gave him another strange look from over her shoulder before inclining her head.

 

            “Sir Starkson.” Inwardly groaning, Tony just sighed as she opened the door for the baths, where he was handed off to a manservant dressed in only a toga around his waist – probably because it was so humid in here, thought Tony as he tugged at his shirt. He was given two fluffy, dark red towels to take into the baths with him, and the manservant bowed and mentioned that if Tony needed anything, only to call. He exited the room to allow Tony to undress after Tony waved him off doing that _for_ him. He may have been a spoiled rich kid, but he could at least dress and undress himself, dammit.

 

            Stripping, Tony left his clothes in a pile on the floor and wrapped one of the towels neatly around his waist, pulling the other around behind his neck and holding onto the ends as he walked into the bath proper. The manservant was waiting beside the door, and slipped back inside the adjoining chamber with another bow; probably to wait for any other late-comers.

 

            And _wow_ ; ginormous was the only word that came to mind. It really was like stepping into Ancient Rome. [1] The only real difference was that the underlying color scheme here was all warm; creamy walls, golden draperies and what looked like a golden-yellow sandstone [2] floor instead of chalky white. The knowledge of a hovering manservant creeped Tony out a bit, but he let it slide and smirked faintly to himself for the irony of the phrase “when in Rome” coming to mind.

 

            The water seemed to be golden-tinted clear and Tony suspected some magic as he put a toe in, smiling as it was pleasantly hot. He discarded the towel around his waist as he climbed in, situating the one around his neck like a pillow so he could lean his head back against the side of the bath as he submerged his body. The warmth permeated his sore muscles and swept past the sweat clogging his pores. Maybe he’d have to reconsider that indoor plumbing thing, if Asgard had huge public baths like this one going for it.

 

            Not for the first time, Tony found himself wondering since the Norse deities had turned out to be based on reality, if there were other ones, too. Asgard was a planet, after all, but to Tony it had just looked like a big city on the waterfront. Had anyone ever explored beyond it? It didn’t seem like anyone ever mentioned any Aesir living in the countryside, and to be honest the idea seemed a little off. But then where did they get their food? Tony knew now that the Golden Apples of Idunn were real, but there had to be something else. Or did the Asgardians just go hunting in other realms for meat and vegetables to bring back? Or maybe tributes, if Asgard was the ‘capital city’ of all the realms; like in Japan? That seemed possible.

 

            Furthermore, were there Roman and Greek gods, too? Egyptian gods? Indian gods – that is, Hindu? Japanese ones? The list of creation legends was almost endless. Had humanity just had a lot of visits from the seemingly-immortal and god-like (hey, Tony could admit it) residents of this particular planet, or were only some of them real and some of them born purely from human imagination, or – what? It made his head turn over in curiosity, and Tony vowed at some point to propose an expedition to maybe see just what else was out there –

 

            “You must be deep in thought, to let your guard down so completely.” A voice whispered in his ear, low and deadly along with what felt like the business end of something small and sharp against his throat and Tony froze. His assailant slid into view from his peripheral vision, apparently having already entered the bath soundlessly while Tony had been distracted. But then, Tony’s shoulders slumped in relief even as he glared.

 

            “You know, it’s not nice to sneak up on people. Not just in general, but _especially_ in baths.” Tony accused, and Loki had the gall to smirk up at him and flick the tip of the dagger so it pressed to his jugular, eyes threatening intent.

 

            “ _Surely_ you know I’ve never been nice, Stark.”

 

            “That’s not the – ” Tony paused, brow knitting – _this_ Loki seemed different than the one he’d spoken to, in the hall, but he couldn’t put his finger on _why_. Tony considered him, for a moment. In fact, if he remembered correctly, the Loki _now_ was giving him the same vibe from that night in the club, all those months ago.

 

            Not that he’d known it was Loki back then.

 

            Maybe the turn of his thoughts had shown on his face, because Loki’s smirk grew as he leaned back, withdrawing the dagger’s curved tip from Tony’s throat and tilting his head femininely in a way that totally didn’t make Tony’s nether regions swell. He swallowed past it – _probably_ not a good idea to jump the newly-returned Prince in the bath. It was public; anyone could walk in.

 

            Clint could even be watching at this very moment, hidden somewhere in the shadows of the cavernous ceiling overhead.

 

            That last thought was the one that did it, and Tony gave an easy smile to which Loki looked suitably affronted, his brows lifting high and one arching slightly.

 

            “You’re rebuffing my advances?” Loki stated casually, and Tony was a little distracted by the way he started to play that compact, wicked hilt between his fingers. He swallowed. Loki probably wouldn’t castrate him here; too much blood to clean out of the filtration system, right?

 

            “Uh, well.” Tony started, keeping his voice low and trying to possibly save the situation – as well as _himself_ some grievous injury. “You know, I brought some friends with me. And one of them is pretty good at hiding in high places. So.” Loki seemed to consider that, before leaning back elegantly against the side of the bath next to him, elbows propped on the cylindrical stone edge.

 

            “I suppose your reasoning has its merits.” One eye watched him from the side, measuredly. Tony was trying very hard not to let his gaze drop to all that pale skin on display – and then he blinked, noticing something odd.

 

            “Wait, are you – _steaming?”_ Loki smiled lazily at him, angling his head slightly to show off his neck, a few strands of dark hair plastered there. Inanely, Tony noticed they were starting to curl in the humidity.

 

            “I thought you had reconsidered my offer?” Tony frowned at him, scooting away a little so he could turn slightly to better face Loki. The water sloshed quietly as he did.

 

            “Scientific question. Also, you acted like you didn’t remember.” Loki’s eyes sharpened, and Tony noticed his steaming body (no, there was _literal_ steam coming off of where Loki’s body met the water, so fuck you, thank you very much) grow abruptly tense.

 

            “We have talked since you came to Asgard?” Loki’s voice was low, cutting, urgent and a little off-putting; it went straight to Tony’s dick. Tony swallowed again, resisting the urge to cover up. Loki wasn’t looking, anyway.

 

            “Uh. Yeah? In the hallway.” Tony squinted at him, watched as Loki’s mouth flattened into a thin line.

 

            “Stark.” Loki began, his head turning to watch him intently. Those eyes were pale – and sorta green, Tony realized belatedly – and compelled him. Tony’s chest began to tighten; that look couldn’t mean anything good. Not that he was afraid, but if _Loki_ was afraid then that meant probably a whole ‘nother shitstorm was a-coming.

 

            “What is it.” Tony asked. His voice was very tense over the sound of the constant soft rush of the natural spring’s hot water. Loki reached out a hand and put it to the nape of Tony’s neck, pulling him in so he could speak against his ear. Tony’s eyes widened at what he heard, and he started to reach for Loki, suddenly, feeling unsettled.

 

            “Hey, what do you – Well _shit._ ” Loki was gone; nothing even giving a hint to his having been there.

 

            (Well, aside from Tony’s ‘little problem’, of course.)

 

[1] The Asgardian Court Bath is basically a combination of the first two pictures below (which are indoor baths), but square-shaped like the third one. Also, it's well kept-up and not in ruins. _Obviously._

  [](http://www.old-picture.com/europe/pictures/Circular-Abbey.jpg)        [](http://images.travelpod.com/tw_slides/ta00/c3c/91a/indoor-roman-bath-bath.jpg)       <link [here](http://chadwicks.ie/blog/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/ancient-roman-baths-england-1-100812-02.jpg)

~~Holy shit I can't articulate in words how much I love that A03 lets you put the pictures directly in!~~

~~No more forbidden and broken links like with FF.Net! PRAISE THE FANDOM GODS.~~

[2] [](https://cycleback.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/07sandstone.jpg)

 

* * *

 

            Morning came punishingly early and Tony loudly voiced his objections to the maid when she threw the curtains open; it was just past dawn, but that was still plenty of light to ruin Tony’s beauty sleep. Amidst his protests, she returned with two guards who respectfully insisted he come with them; Odin waited, to give Tony his First Task. Now _that_ gave him pause; reminded Tony of the deal they’d struck. So he grumbled, but still rolled out of bed, pulled on one of his fresh T-shirts and a pair of jeans.

 

            The guards escort him through the halls and into what feels like the dungeon level. Tony looks around; he doesn’t see any prisoners, but he’s starting to wonder if he should’ve spent the night fixing the problems in the suit. He feels a little better when the guards take him to a door and about-face, bowing to him before turning to face each other and taking a step back, to either side of the door.

 

            “The All-Father has explicitly Forbidden anyone to witness your Ordeal, Sir Tony Starkson.” The first states.

 

            “The All-Father awaits your presence beyond these doors.” The second continues, and Tony could’ve rolled his eyes at all the melodrama.

 

            “Yeah, yeah – real impressive job, there, guys; no seriously, 8 out of 10.” Tony says sarcastically as he walks forward and pushes the doors open. They part, predictably dramatic, revealing a round spot of light which illuminates Odin as he stands there, looking just-as-predictably regal and somber. The king waves his hand once Tony is inside, and the doors close behind them. Despite the thickness of those heavy doors, Tony can still hear as the guards’ spears chink together, and guesses they have barred the doorway by crossing their spears at the ends over it. Tony feels a pulse of unease, but ignores it in favor of not breaking his stride until he’s standing before Odin.

 

            In the almost-darkness of the room, Odin raises his hand. There is a light blue magic tingling in his fingertips, and Tony has only a moment before it coalesces and shoots forward – straight into his arc reactor.

 

_The First Task._

Odin’s voice booms , unwelcome, in his head, but it’s just a flash before Tony’s thrown to the ground. When he looks up, Howard’s standing over him. Howard’s face is in shadows, and Tony feels a cold emptiness in his chest. He gropes for it, and feels himself break out in a cold sweat when he realizes the arc reactor’s gone. Howard’s holding it, Tony can see now as Howard raises his hand, his father’s face dark and disappointed as his gaze shifts to the glowing reactor in his palm.

 

            “You copied me. You didn’t earn this, yourself.” Suddenly, Tony’s ten again and scared; he reaches out for the arc reactor.

 

            “Dad – ” But Howard’s mouth is in that grim, firm line it gets when there’s no shifting him.

 

            “You even used the element _I_ discovered. Is anything of yours truly _yours_ , Tony?” Howard’s gaze shifts from the arc reactor down to Tony; belittling and contemptuous. “What have you done with your life?”

 

            “I’ve built things!” Tony explodes, but his voice sounds small in the vacuum. “Just like you taught me! I made weapons to keep America safe, to help our soldiers overseas like you always said – ”

 

            “And it was _your_ fault StarkTech was in the hands of those terrorists.” Howard interrupts him without yelling; that calmly degrading tone is all he needs. “You made those weapons, you patented them, but you were so busy playing with your distractions that you didn’t even _think_ to check to see where Stane was selling them. You didn’t bother to _know_ where those precious weapons you had made ended up. You just kept playing with your cars and your weapons-grade ammunition and never lifted your head out of the smell of your expensive coffee. You thought your weapons _toys_ , Tony, and that’s what got you in this mess in the first place.” Howard’s fingers tighten on the arc reactor, and for a terrifying moment Tony thinks he’s going to crush it in his palm. But Howard just looks down at him; always so tall, always disappointed, now bordering on disgust.

 

            “It’s time to stop playing with toys. You’re no longer a child. Grow up and be a man.”

 

            “I’m a better man that _you_ were!” Tony explodes, hurt and anger coloring his voice as he struggles to stand against Howard’s accusations, trying to ignore the clock in his head that tells him just how little time he has left before the charge leaves the electromagnet and the shrapnel starts crawling inexorably towards his heart. Howard looks surprised, for a moment, and Tony takes his chance and runs with it.

 

            “You never had anything to live up to – you _started_ it all, Dad! You set up the expectations and it was _my_ job to keep the company going after you died. I _did_! I’m not saying I did it the ‘right way’ and I’m not saying I didn’t make mistakes, but that’s a hell of a lot of pressure to put on a 17-year-old kid [3] who thought he had at least another ten or fifteen years to screw up before needing to take up that mantle! So what if I didn’t do it the way you would’ve done it? You weren’t _there_ – you and Mom _died_ and so what if you disapprove of my life choices _now_ because you know what? You weren’t _there_ and I took charge of the company in a few months and I did _good!_ And when I found out about what Obie had done, I fixed it! I made the Iron Man suit and took out the StarkTech that the Ten Rings had and became a _superhero_ just like your precious Captain America! We work _together_ , now, Dad, and guess what? It’s not _you_ who’s Steve’s equal! It’s _me!_ Because maybe, yeah, you were right that he was a decent guy but do you know why he’s better than you? He has a _heart_ – he’s a soldier but he always tries to do the right thing, and that’s more than I can say for you when you always cheated on Mom!”

 

            The words ring in the air and Howard looks shocked. Tony braces himself for the berating to come – Howard never laid a hand on him, whether in anger or pride. No, Howard used his words to bring Tony down, with so many hooks laid into his skin that eventually all Howard had to do was tug and Tony would let himself be pulled along; like a marionette. Tony had done that for so many years, constantly striving to get Howard’s attention, Howard’s approval, but his father was always focused on other things; big projects, searching for Captain America and the Tesseract – _anything_ but his family.

 

            So, heart racing, Tony feels a little justified in his explosion. It’s been a long time coming.

 

            Howard’s still staring at him, shocked, and belatedly Tony remembers his arc reactor’s missing.

 

            The moment he does, the scene fades and the emptiness in his chest goes away. Tony immediately looks down, putting a hand over the light of the arc reactor humming pleasantly in his chest as though to assure himself it’s really there.

 

            There is a quiet clang of metal on stone, and Tony glances up, remembering Odin. The king is staring at him, spear in hand and resting on the ground (it must have been what made that sound). His expression is implacable, but for a moment Tony thinks he sees a flicker of understanding in that solitary eye.

 

            “What the _hell_ was that.” Tony breathes, feeling the adrenaline and frustration from a moment ago still built up in his bloodstream. He didn’t even remember the Tasks – that it _was_ a Task – until Odin brought him back. It’s chilling to think someone can manipulate his mind like that. Odin stares at him, measuredly, for a few more moments.

 

            “Your First Task.” He states the obvious, and Tony scowls at him.

 

            “That’s not – ” Odin continues, talking right over him like he’s nothing more than an insect.

 

            “I used my magic to bring out an instance in your past where you had an unresolved conflict.” Tony is starting to feel uneasy in addition to annoyed, now.

 

            “So, for shits and giggles? What gave you the right to enter my head?” Odin’s expression turns stony and coldly irritated.

 

            “It was necessary.” Tony scoffs at him, feeling thoroughly violated and so he verbally lashes out.

 

            “Necessary my _ass._ Did you just want to see me rail at my old man like I never did while he was alive? Get the great Tony Stark _upset_? Or was that all _you_ , trying to come to terms with the fact one of your sons would rather fake his own _death_ than see you again?” Odin’s eye flashes, and his spear starts to glow; Tony guesses it’s supposed to be threatening. Nonetheless, he smirks straight in the face of the pissed-off god-like king, standing up to his full height; despite the fact that Odin’s taller. “Or were you just hoping that Loki gave enough of a shit that _maybe,_ just _maybe,_ he’d want to talk it all out with you someday when everyone’s lives _aren’t_ threatened with some Big Bad Wolf of the Cosmos knocking on all of our little piggy doors?” Tony’s not afraid, and maybe that shows, because Odin pauses, and seems to assess him, before turning away from him.

 

            “Your past shares many similarities with Loki’s, as my late Queen had observed and spoke of to me, before her death.” Minutely, Odin’s shoulders seem to shrink with remembered grief and Tony almost feels bad for him. “I had not anticipated such an altercation being something that still affected you as an adult. I was not aware what memory the emotion was attached to until it had been called forth.” It’s not an apology, but it’s close. Tony wonders if Odin really _is_ making an effort to see Midgardians as equal allies, despite their differences. Odin pauses, again. “Perhaps I have underestimated the effect I have on my sons, as well.” Odin glances back over his shoulder towards him, but Tony can’t read anything in his face.

 

            “Your Ordeal for today is concluded. A servant shall fetch you, for the Second Task.” Tony frowns at him, but doesn’t have a chance to say anything as Odin disappears, walking into the darkness of the room. The circle of light from above winks out, and the doors behind him open as if on cue, the sound of the guard’s spearheads sliding off each other making Tony turn to face the expanse of golden hallways, once again.

 

 _God, but this family is so fucked up._ He can’t help but think, as he’s escorted back to his quarters (so he doesn’t get lost, probably). Sure, he and Maria and Howard didn’t have it perfect, but there was none of this ‘adoption’ nonsense and drama. Yeah, Howard was a shitty dad, but that’s sort of just who he _was_ ; arrogant and self-centered. Tony’s pretty sure he’s inherited those traits in _droves_. If he found out he wasn’t Howard’s son, it wouldn’t change anything – maybe Loki discovering it had just been bad timing?

 

            Who knows, maybe Odin would let himself learn something from another bad father. After all, it still isn’t too late for Loki to make amends with his family. Frigga may be dead, but Thor and Odin are still around to care and worry about him. That’s more than Tony had, being an only child. Sure, there had been Jarvis, but no siblings to speak of. DUM-E was probably the closest thing Tony had to an annoyingly inept little brother, actually.

 

            And maybe that was sort of sad, but Tony didn’t mind. Not really.

 

            …Although he does wonder, sometimes, what having a brother would’ve been like. Would they fight, like Loki and Thor do? Would they get along? Would they have made an unstoppable designing and engineering team, or would they have constantly tried to out-do one another? The more Tony lets himself think on it – on the what-ifs – he wonders if they would’ve both just been screwed. Would a different Stark son have lessened Howard’s expectations of him? Or would there have just been a favorite, with the other always lagging behind. Tony wants to believe he’d be the brother in the lead, but he’s seen where that’s landed Thor and still isn’t sure if that’s the right way to go.

 

            And what if he was Loki? What if he was never good enough, ever, and Howard just completely ignored him and encouraged the son who would’ve ‘got it done, and done right’. Then Tony would’ve felt even _more_ inept.

 

            Maybe it’s better that it’s too late, now, anyway. These thoughts are just the lingering regrets of a childish, pointless, years-old wish for a playmate; someone who could keep up with him.

 

            It’s probably just as well. Another kid wouldn’t’ve changed Howard’s flaws, after all – they were too engrained (cheating, drinking, neglect, verbal abuse; the list goes on). And Tony doesn’t think he has it in him to wish his childhood on someone else; double the misery, double the issues, double the trouble. And not in a good way.

 

            But it takes Tony more effort than it should, to firmly shelve these thoughts.

 

            There are more important things to worry about – like that intergalactic conference coming up. The delegates start arriving today, and some arrived before he and Thor and Clint got here. The names of the realms are in another language, but that’d be nothing to Tony, who’s dabbled enough in a few of them (French, German, Japanese) to at least be able to lock away unfamiliar-sounding words in his head – if he puts in the effort to, that is.

 

            There’s Asgard, of course, and Earth, ‘Midgard’. That’s two. Thor was always going on about the ‘Nine Realms’, so there’ve gotta be seven more. Tony wonders, for the first time, how diverse the universe really _is_. Given that Odin and Thor and Loki look human enough (just taller and, in the former two’s case, beefier), Tony really hopes his alien race expectations à la Star Wars, Star Trek, Babylon 5, Andromeda, Stargate SG-1 and Futurama aren’t going to be disappointed.

 

            (His Chitauri nightmares don’t count; this is going to be _civilized_ interaction, not all-out war.)

 

            Where’s the fun in travelling to another planet to have a conference with aliens about the fate of the universe if they all look like Grade-A white assholes, after all?

 

            …Maybe he should ask Loki for a crash-course in the universe’s geography. Or maybe Thor – yeah, Thor is probably safer, especially after what Loki whispered to Tony in the bath. But then again, Thor doesn’t really strike Tony as the type to remember all the political nuances of the different realms.

 

            Maybe there’s a library around here, where Tony can find a book?

 

            Or maybe, just _maybe_ , this is the perfect chance to test the StarkPad he brought, and see if he can wrangle himself a wireless internet signal. Pepper has, he realizes guiltily, probably worried herself sick about not hearing from him. Well. The least Tony can do is _try_ , and see if his StarkPhone (especially adapted for this trip) can connect with Earth’s communications network.

 

            Well, nothing to do but give it a whirl. He’s got a few hours to kill before some other realm’s delegation arrives just in time for the midday meal. Briefly, he wonders why there aren’t feasts to honor these guests. When he and Clint had arrived there’d not been much fanfare, but then they hadn’t exactly been all decked out in their finest. Maybe it’ll be at the end of the week, when everyone has arrived? He thinks Thor mentioned some huge feast to kick off around then, to celebrate the spirit of cooperation and the official start of the conference. Or something like that.

 

            Yeah, that could be it; Odin giving them time to adjust to Asgard and for all the delegations from other planets to arrive, _before_ throwing them all together into a major social event. As far as Tony knows (unless Earth’s governments deserve more credit than he’s giving them), no one from these other planets have ever seen a human, before, because Tony certainly doesn’t know what they’d look like (he honestly didn’t buy into all that UFO crap, even though the testimonies had been entertaining). Tack that onto humans probably being one of the physically weaker species out there (hey, Tony can admit it), and Odin figuring it’s a better idea to present their new ‘allies’ in the most ostentatious way possible.

 

            Still, it’s oddly considerate of him. Maybe the King of Assholes really _is_ making an effort, here.

 

            Well, they do have a deal going on, so Tony figures it makes sense; honor, and all that.

 

            Once at his room, Tony impulsively asks his guide if she can wait. He runs inside and grabs the smaller bag housing his StarkDevices, then asks her if there’s a library where he can read about the other realms. She listens obligingly to the request, then merely nods, and turns, gesturing politely.

 

            “This way, Sir Starkson.” She starts off, and Tony tries not to groan as he falls into step behind her.

 

            “C’mon, it’s just _Tony_!”

 

[3] For this fic (because the MCU timeline is all sorts of screwy), we’re going to say that Tony was born in 1970, and that Howard was born in 1922. This puts Tony at 21 when his parents die in 1991, and Howard at 69 when he dies. Also, this puts Howard at 23 years old in 1945 when WWII ends, and Tony at 3 years old [4] when Howard is 51 and makes that film on September 15, 1973 that we see on the old reel from SHIELD in Iron Man 2011. This means that Howard was 48 when Tony was born. It is still 1991 when (in Iron Man 2008) we learn that Tony, still 21, takes the CEO position in Stark Industries away from Obadiah Stane.

 

Stane really had only a few months of running Stark Industries before Tony stepped up to take the reins after dealing with the shit of his parents suddenly dying. This adjustment also has the happy coincidence of making Stane more motivated to want to off Tony, if not for Tony being the Golden Goose. Stane had a taste of complete power as essentially a regent-like figure, only to have it taken away. I can just _see_ Stane trying to convince Tony to take more time to grieve, and Tony knowing he needs to do _something_ otherwise he’ll start doing self-destructing behavior to deal with it and he doesn’t want to live at the bottom of a bottle like his dad.

 

In May 2015, Tony turns 45. OK? All good? Whew!

 

[4] I know he looks older in the movie version of that old clip (where Howard tells him to ‘put that back where you found it’), but please bear with me; the MCU’s timeline for Tony is a nightmare of inconsistencies. Also Tony acts younger and doesn’t talk, in that old film, so I’m gonna call creative license here, for my sanity.


	5. This Book Would Be Great, If Tony Could Read Old Norse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finds a book in the library - it's full of Old Norse runes, and he can't read it, and it's gotta be for kids. He has to smirk at the idea of little-Thor or little-Loki leafing through it; scratch that, probably just Loki. Still, it's interesting enough, and so he dutifully takes pictures with his StarkPhone so he can peruse the content in more detail, later. Preferably when some foreign dignitary isn't about to arrive, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so this isn't a 'real' chapter... I meant to post yesterday, but literally did not have (and have not had) time to write and was exhausted, so it didn't happen. This is a book Tony finds early on in the library in the next chapter (I have at least that much written), and well... I meant to incorporate it into the chapter, and then I found myself describing something that Tony can't even read, so it would just be images, and he wouldn't understand anything written down and uh... that turned out to be pretty hard to describe without me feeling like a stupid tool.
> 
> So I thought to myself: I'm gonna have to actually make the damn Asgardian children's book, aren't I? Hahah! So here it is.
> 
> This is an important book (in a hazy, general-plot-organization sort of way), but it's also something for you guys to play with while I work on trying to update sometime soon. :3 If you figure out the translations for each page, I'll be duly impressed; it's not an especially hard code, once you get past the fact there are no spaces and it's in runes. Not going to tell you which kind, but if you really want to know, you can look it up and figure it out for yourself! :p Maybe by the end of the fic I'll post the transliteration of this book, but until then, feel free to play around with translating it!
> 
> Also, Happy April Fool's Day! 8D I know it's not exactly a traditional chapter, and I guess this is the one day on Earth you guys might not kill me if I post it. Oh, and this book's 20 pages of content took hours of planning and drawing and, in the end, writing. Just so you know, the runes aren't random. Also, other than the Celtic symbols, the only image that isn't created by me (I also made the backgrounds of each page!) is the first page of the awesome Yggdrasil with the eagle at the top and the dragon at the bottom. That one's from a tattoo design I found online and liked it too much not to use (just click on that picture and it'll take you to the original artist, OK?).
> 
> If it offends anyone that that tattoo image is there, I'll just take it down (no, I did not ask permission to use it; sorry, I'm really exhausted over here).
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and I'll keep trying to find the time to write more of the 'actual' part of this fic! :3

[ ](http://tattoo-design.deviantart.com/art/Yggdrasil-and-Dragon-433577450)

 

JustYourAverageObsessedFangirl on Chapter 5 Fri 03 Apr 2015 08:04AM EDT  
Svartalfheim was once home to the Dark Elves. In the time of Allfather Bor, Malekith attempted to plunge all of the Nine Realms into Eternal Night. They used the Cursed as well as a malevonent (it was probably meant to be malevolent, but the symbol there is what I translated as N, not the one I understood as L) force known only as The Aether. Due to the war, this Realm is no longer inhabited.

JustYourAverageObsessedFangirl on Chapter 5 Fri 03 Apr 2015 08:04AM EDT  
Ruler: King Malekith. Ancestor: Unknown. Crown Prince: Unknown.


	6. Intergalactic Incidents Will Happen Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a few days in Asgard, and Tony’s already being forced into ceremonial ‘Midgardian’ dress. He’s really regretting it got offered in tribute to Asgard during Earth’s Viking Age. On the bright side, at least Odin’s not enough of an ethnocentric asshole to try and dress them up in Asgardian clothing. Tony’s also meeting new people; royalty, even, and wouldn’t Pepper be proud? Then, something unexpected happens on the day of the feast, and Tony just tries to hold it together in front of a hall of masticating aliens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Dance a Little Dance
> 
> Chapter Six: Intergalactic Incidents Will Happen Anyway
> 
> Word Count: 5,174
> 
> [Total Word Count: 27,719]
> 
> Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
> 
> Pairing: Eventual FrostIron/IronFrost, if we can get there in one piece.
> 
> Warning: Language, Nine Realms politics, conference delegates, surprise visit, Tony’s history, diagrams
> 
> Spoilers: Incorporates everything in the main storyline up to the ending of “Thor: The Dark World”. Also, Tony still has the shrapnel, electromagnet and arc reactor in his chest.
> 
> Author: Kisnau
> 
> Date: Friday, May 1, 2015
> 
> Miscellaneous Notes: I don’t know what’s going on, anymore. Hahaha. So much for this being a drabble fic! Let’s just see where it takes us, then, lovely readers… Thanks for your patience! I’m moving back to the US from Germany in 28 days (after living here for almost a year), so please forgive me if I’m a little slow with updates. :3 Going to try for at least once a month, and more often if inspiration strikes! :D
> 
> Finished writing this today (~2,000 words), so it’s nice and fresh, but please forgive any typos I may have missed!

* * *

 

            “Man of Iron, are you present?” That unmistakable voice bellowed into the library, and Tony peered over the railing into the foyer of the library, giving a little wave. It was hours after he had finished photographing that children’s book which seemed like it might be some help (if only he could translate it). For now, Tony was interrupted by none other than Thor himself, a grumpy-looking Clint in tow.

 

            “Hey there, big guy. What’s up?” Thor smiled at him, raising a hand to beckon him down.

 

            “The delegation from Muspelheim arrives within the hour, and you must be present.” Tony raised an eyebrow at him, and Thor grinned, widely. “The dignitaries come in the order of their place on Yggdrasil. After Midgard, there is Muspelheim, then, lastly, Nidavallir.” Tony frowned at Thor and pushed away from the railing, striding towards the wide stairs to the lower level of the library. He was remembering something…

 

            “Wait, what do those realms do, again?” He questioned as he hopped down the stairs, rewarded with a bright look from Thor and Clint giving him a face something like oh-hell-what-are-you- _on-_ Tony-now-he’ll-never-shut-up.

 

            “Muspelheim is the realm of the Fire Demons and Nidavallir is where the Sons of Ivaldi forged my mighty Mjolnir.” Thor gushed happily, clearly pleased at Tony’s interest, and Tony connected the dots with a good guess about the images he remembered, eyes narrowing.

 

            “Wait, aren’t there two more below Nidawhatever?” Thor blinked at him, and in the silence Tony strode up to him, cocking an eyebrow. “Cat got your tongue, buddy?” Thor seemed to hesitate, then shrugged.

 

            “You are correct, but Svartalfheim has been uninhabited since the Dark War in my grandallfather’s time. Of course, King Malekith and a few others survived, but Svartalfheim has no _people_. There is no one who rules it, and no one to send a delegation.” Tony frowned, at that.

 

            “Oh.” Thor smiled a little at him; just slightly sad.

 

            “Helheim’s Queen does not send a delegation to such conferences, although Father has always extended invitations. I imagine there is little concern for matters of the Nine Realms. When everything is destroyed during Ragnarok, all will come to her, anyway.”

 

“I see…” Thor clapped him on the shoulder, disrupting Tony’s inner musings on the subject.

 

“But come! We must away to properly prepare to greet the Daughters of Surtr. We have taken the liberty of finding you and Eye of Hawk the appropriate garments.” Tony felt cold in his gut, at that, and cast a surreptitious glance at Clint. One of Thor’s arms around each of their shoulders, there was no escape; Clint looked adequately terrified.

 

“Uh, no, that’s OK Thor, I brought a suit – ” Thor just steamrolled over Tony’s protests.

 

“Neither your armor nor your common linens are acceptable for such an occasion as this! Do not worry.” Thor squeezed his upper arm, and Tony was pretty sure there’d be a bruise, later, but he forced a smile when Thor beamed down at him. “We had Midgardian attire gifted to us centuries ago, in tribute. I am certain it will be acceptable, and you will clearly give the message of being representative of Midgard, so you need not worry of others perceiving Asgard as the ‘steward’ of you Midgardians. Father was adamant about the nuances of protocol not being ignored.” Tony narrowed his eyes, at that.

 

“It was your father’s idea?” Thor nodded, still dragging them along.

 

“Verily! He does not wish to give the impression that Asgard and Midgard are not equal allies. It was quite fortuitous he recalled these tributes, given centuries ago. I am certain they will be to your liking.”

 

Tony had a very, very bad feeling about this.

 

* * *

 

            They were standing in Odin’s Great Hall, with only Odin himself seated. Tony realized he recognized the symbols on the banners some people were holding around them, and matched them silently with the pictures in his memory.

 

            Thor was standing to Odin’s right (what was Tony’s left, as he looked on). A servant further from the throne, but next to Thor, was holding a banner with the golden symbol Tony had seen at the top of the tree, in the book.

 

Past this servant, there were two regal-looking women in short but flowing robes (almost like togas), standing with entwining golden adornments wrapped entirely around their bare upper arms. They wore sandals, with matching entwining golden wires going up to their ankles, their heads held high. One was golden-haired, the other dark-haired, but they were both wearing circlets of gold on their heads with a shining mother-of-pearl-like gem in the center. Noticing his gaze, the brunette met Tony’s eyes steadfastly, then nodded slightly in respect. He smiled a bit, nodding in return before letting his eyes drift further to the banner; the purple swirly symbol, OK. That was skipping the white one, but Tony could deal.

 

            Beyond the banner with the purple symbol were two dark-skinned figures standing tall and mostly bare. It was probably a trick of the light that it seemed to Tony like their skin had a blue tint to it; then again, all of these people _were_ aliens. They could easily double Thor’s height, and that was saying something. Around their muscled shoulders were decorative straps obviously fashioned from some sort of animal hide, but Tony couldn’t see any weapons to complete their ensemble. Short capes hung from these straps, falling to just above their waists, and Tony swore they were only wearing leather shorts. Their feet and legs were bare. The only adornments he saw looked like they were made out of bone; sharp teeth strung around their necks in a way that for some reason reminded Tony of old Indian chieftains and their iconic headdresses. The servant holding the banner beside them sported the blue symbol from the book.

 

            That was the other side of Odin’s throne; the side Thor occupied. As for Tony’s side, there was a gap between him and Odin (only expected, really) large enough to fit three people inside, but that was OK. Differentiating between Asgard and Earth was a good thing, honestly. Clint was at Tony’s left, and beyond him was a servant sporting a banner with the green symbol that must be for Earth. Beyond them, there were two conspicuously blank spaces that Tony had a sneaking suspicion would be reserved for the last two realms’ delegations.

 

            They waited. Eventually, there was a trumpet, and the sound of doors opening at the other end of the Great Hall. Tony couldn’t see who was coming, past the huge crowd of people flanking the wide pathway.

 

            “Announcing, the honored delegates from Muspelheim!”

 

            Honestly, it was just a lot of waiting as the people from Muspelheim – Tony listened, this time, and he felt like he was starting to get the hang of these weird words – marched in. He really couldn’t help but stare. Behind a banner identical to all the others, except for the red volcano symbol, two women walked with sure footsteps. Their skin was dark, almost black; like it’d been scorched. Like the scantily-clad, muscular men standing next to the two women from the purple-bannered realm, what Tony could see of their skin (that is, their faces) almost seemed to be some shade of dark red in the right light. Brown leather boots went up to their knees and long leather gloves covered their arms up to the elbows. Their bodies were wrapped from head to toe in what seemed to be blackened plant leaves, only melted or otherwise fused together to form some sort of flexible cloth. One had hair shorn close to her head, but it still puffed out a few inches, like African hair. It was that peachy-orange color you see at sunset. Her companion had longer hair, but it was pulled back in a short ponytail, also looking puffed-out. It was red; as in, bright red like the rainbow, like she had dyed it, but Tony had his doubts. He didn’t see any adornments at all; nothing that wasn’t necessary.

 

            When they finally stood before the throne (after crossing the long distance from where Tony had first spotted them, to when they were standing right in front of him), Odin rose. Thor had told Tony that Odin always spoke to the people in All-Speak. He didn’t explain beyond that it was a spell you had to have cast upon you, and it enabled whoever heard you to hear your words in their own language; a pretty neat trick, Tony thought.

 

            “Asgard welcomes the Daughters of Surtr.” Odin raised his left hand ( _not_ the one holding his spear) to indicate with his upturned palm the woman with the short, cropped, sunset hair. “Ryok – ” And now the one with the stubby ponytail. “– and Aske. We are gladdened that your journey was uneventful.” The women – the daughters of Surtr, apparently – looked up at Odin without an inch of fear or hesitation, only stern respect and hard purpose. It was Aske who spoke.

 

            “Greetings, All-Father.” Tony could understand her; she must know All-Speak, too – then again, the spell might be required, for foreign diplomats. Tony could see that, although he furrowed his brows at the odd-sounding title in the next sentence. “The Enduring of Muspelheim sends his good will to Asgard, and expresses hope for the conference to bring success in this urgent matter.” Odin nodded, and jabbed the bottom of his spear into the ground. As one, everyone in the hall (except Odin, who sat back down on his throne again) bent down on one knee in respect; well, everyone except Tony and Clint. They were a little late to get the memo, but did their clumsy best to follow protocol when Thor sent them a pointed look. Tony looked back up at the Daughters of Surtr and found Ryok staring measuredly at him.

 

            Odin spoke again, telling them to take their place, and Ryok first, then Aske, moved to stand beside the banner for Midgard, their own banner-bearing servant following after.

 

* * *

 

            A few days later, basically the same ceremony for Brokkr and Idi from Nidavallir (the introductions helped, and Tony was sort of sorry he had missed the ones before he and Clint got to Asgard) took place. Thor reassured him that, before the feast, Odin would give a proclamation that would reiterate who everyone was, so Tony didn’t have to worry about not knowing. Hey, he was bad with names anyway, but at least he could _try_ not to make an intergalactic ass out of himself. He could admit it would probably happen anyway, but at least he could say, afterwards, that he gave it a shot. Maybe it would be good to at least learn the names of the other people in the conference, anyway. This wasn’t like a Stark Industries business meeting; this was _important_ , this _counted._

Tony did have to suppress a snort at the thought of the assholes on his board of directors sitting with all these characters, though. All these different people, all seen as equals (as far as Tony could tell, from all the respect going on) and the universe hadn’t collapsed into chaos. Those guys would have probably have thrown a fit. Then again, after meeting him, Odin _had_ struck Tony as the same type; old and stuck in his ways thinking it should always stay that way. But he’d shown a remarkable openness to being equal allies with Earth. Sure, Tony had had to ‘persuade’ him a little bit, but if Odin had _really_ been against it, it wouldn’t have happened. Tony was sure of that, whether Odin needed his arc reactor or not.

 

            He still didn’t know what Odin _wanted_ with the arc reactor, if and when Tony didn’t need it anymore. He still had two trials to pass, after all. No sense getting ahead of himself; not with this.

 

            The feast to welcome everyone ‘Asgard-style’ and commence the conference was set a few days after the folks from Nidavallir arrived. Thor mentioned it also coincided with Disting, so there was double the reason to celebrate. Since he was going to be eating, Tony full-on refused to wear the ridiculously heavy coat [1] they’d foisted on him for the last two ceremonies. He’d just go with the under-clothes, thanks very much [2]. Not to mention, ancient Viking-style robes really weren’t his thing, but at least they saved him the trouble of getting mistaken for someone from Asgard (and thus, someone who actually knew how all this protocol crap worked). Clint had gotten off easy with his clothes. [3] Honestly, Tony suspected that his status on Earth was the reason he’d been given the clothes he had. He wasn’t complaining about it, though – mainly because Tony looked good in red and he _knew_ it.

 

            Really, it was all boring, predictable politics and then they’d get to the actual conference soon enough. Wasn’t really too much to get excited about, other than maybe approaching the other diplomats for personal introductions and some small talk before they tried to knock their heads together and solve this problem Loki’d dropped in their laps.

 

[1] Tony’s heavy, ceremonial overcoat: <http://36.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lnmbbdpqVn1qe23mao1_500.jpg>

 

[2] Tony’s under-clothes (the one on the right): <http://s276.photobucket.com/user/vanityfairy_photos/media/viking/lj_vikingcomparison.jpg.html>

 

[3] Clint’s outfit: <https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQozQFr6Wm5UwkmaUVQtx3zWlp_0nLjpCoseGiVXI7mte20blVLwg>

 

* * *

 

            Of course, it would never be that easy. The morning of the feast (which was to start at midday), there was some sort of commotion in the palace and Tony was dragged out of bed by Thor, Clint soon following. Half-asleep, they were thrown into a room and dressed hurriedly by servants in those same Viking-era clothes from Earth before being shoved back out again. Thor herded them to the Great Hall, where Tony caught a glimpse of Odin’s stony face before being pushed into his usual position a few paces away from the throne. The other delegates were already all there, in the same places as for the welcome ceremonies, only with all the inhabited realms present and accounted for. Tony exchanged a worried look with Clint, but they didn’t have time to do more than that before the doors were opening at the end and there was a booming announcement after the trumpets, from a servant at the end of the hall.

 

            “Announcing, the honored delegates from Helheim!” Murmurs broke out in the audience, which Tony guessed had been just-as-hurriedly gathered together. Instead of the normal respectful silence, people were whispering to each other furiously, gesturing and many looking like they had just rolled out of bed. At the announcement, though, people were starting to peer curiously towards the door, but of course Tony still couldn’t see anything because of the crowd and the distance. He risked a glance at Thor, who looked stricken and shocked. Odin was as stone-faced as ever.

 

            “Hey, didn’t Thor say Helheim never showed up for these things?” Clint hissed at him under his breath, and the weirdness of the situation finally dawned on Tony.

 

            “Oh, right.” Curiosity peaked, now, Tony just waited and watched as the delegation got closer.

 

            When they did, he found himself staring.

 

            Just like with Muspelheim and Nidavallir, there was a servant with a banner sporting a symbol – the grey one, Tony remembered, from the book – walking before them. But, unlike with Muspelheim and Nidavallir, there were only two people. There was the Asgardian servant, and then the two delegates, and no one else. No entourage of advisors, no guards looking like they had tagged along from the other realm for appearance’s sake. Nothing; only them.

 

            It was a little girl and a pale-faced, frail woman whose skin looked stretched over too many bones.

 

            There was dead silence, but Tony noticed movement in the audience and found his eyes drawn to it. Someone was forcing their way through, calling out in a broken cry.

 

            “Nanna! Is it Nanna?! Mother!” A person burst out of the crowd, on Thor’s side of the hall. He was restrained by the guards lining the edge of the path, but looked anguished, reaching out. The pale-faced woman turned her face towards this call, but did not stop walking, and did not deviate from her path. Tony wasn’t sure if she looked at him, or said anything at all. At her look, the man fell silent in what was clearly great pain, and simply watched her even after the woman had passed beyond him, and had to turn her head forward to continue walking.

 

            “Forseti’s mother? Is it Nanna?” A voice murmured from Tony’s right and he looked, surprised to see Loki standing in the blank space between himself and Odin. Loki’s expression was intent, his eyes slightly hooded, and his fingers steepled into one another just in front of his stomach. Tony frowned at him; Loki had never been present, for any of the greetings. Why now? Instead of asking, though, he looked back at the delegates, who were slowly approaching Odin’s throne. Tony guessed it was taking longer because the little girl’s legs were smaller. She looked five, maybe six. She was wrapped in a black, shimmering cloth that fell around her, concealing the lines of her body. Half her face was hidden behind the fall of a long, matching head scarf which actually looked like it had been wrapped around the entirety of the left side of her head. Tony couldn’t see her hands from where they were hidden by the flow of the cloth. [4] By contrast, the pale-faced woman – Nanna, maybe; at least it was easy to say – was in a simple grey shift dress with a thin belt around her waist. The fabric was loosely draped over her arms and legs. [5] Her hair was white, but her face was free of the signs of age, if still far too thin and strained.

 

            They stopped walking, and Tony noticed now that Odin had stood calmly, despite all the commotion. The hall fell into silence as he spoke.

 

            “Asgard welcomes the Queen Hela, and her companion Nanna.” Tony jerked a little, staring in disbelief at Odin. The _Queen_? Thor had told him neither the rulers nor their next-in-lines _ever_ attended these things. A security issue, or something. But Odin was still talking, and Tony looked back at the two from Helheim. And if Nanna was the woman, then that meant…

 

            “Greetings, All-Father.” It was a little girl’s voice, the sound of her mouth around the words young but the tone itself unhesitating and collected, her one visible eye focused only on Odin. “I, the Truth of Helheim, bring my good will and counsel to Asgard.” Glancing back, Tony watched as Odin tilted his head in demure acknowledgement. Eyes drifting, Tony noticed Loki was still staring intently at the little girl.

 

            “We are honored to receive it. Arrangements will be made to give you proper accommodation.” Tony felt Loki step forward, speaking suddenly and making himself known.

 

“We offer our apologies for not being better prepared for your historic visit.” His voice sounded a tad tight, and Tony blinked at the back of Loki’s head for a moment before he watched Hela, again. Her gaze slowly shifted to Loki, remaining impassive. Then, the slightest of smirks seemed to grace her face, and Tony _swore_ her eyes flickered to his own, briefly, before focusing back on Loki as she answered him.

 

“Apologies are not necessary, Father. I am heartened to see you well, despite rumors to the contrary.” It was stated simply, almost matter-of-fact. Tony watched as Loki’s shoulders relaxed minutely, and when he spoke again, it almost sounded as though he were smiling.

 

“Rumors are not reliable. To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence, Daughter?” Odin was being oddly quiet in all this, but Tony risked a glance at him, anyway. Odin was still standing, silently watching the exchange between Loki and Hela, his expression shrewd. Thor, on the other hand –

 

“Daughter?” Thor strode down a step on the stairs leading to Odin’s throne, breaking the moment and gaping at the little girl before rounding on Loki. “You have a _daughter_? Brother, when – ”

 

“Discussions of this nature are perhaps better left to the privacy of my chambers.” Loki offered crisply, before looking to Odin, his face looking tight, again. Odin acknowledged this by stepping forward to address her.

 

“We are gladdened your journey was uneventful, and express our deep gratitude for the boon of your counsel, Queen Hela.” With this, Odin jabbed the bottom of his spear into the ground, and everyone got down on one knee to bow to her, as they had the other delegates. Tony guessed it was probably more important they show respect since she was the _actual ruler of her realm_ , though.

 

Tony couldn’t help sneaking glances between Hela and her _father_ ; amazed at the fact that Loki had had a fucking _child_. What about the whole thing on Earth he’d said about not conceiving? Was this a result of sometime in the past, where Loki had made the mistake of _not_ being the ‘woman’ in the relationship? But she looked so young – then again, aging on Earth and Asgard was something done at very different rates, so really, Tony had no idea how old Hela _actually_ was. Just like Loki, in fact.

 

Well, wasn’t this turning into a fun little family shit-fest.

 

[4] Hela’s clothing: <http://pakifashion.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/ae4e0601ed4475176b526f5b6c64f876.jpg>

 

[5] Sculpture of Nanna for reference: <http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/e8/Nanna_%281857%29_by_H._W._Bissen.jpg/320px-Nanna_%281857%29_by_H._W._Bissen.jpg>

 

* * *

 

            Despite Hela’s unexpected appearance, the feast went on as usual, although Tony was pretty sure there had been two hastily-added seats. Nanna was, apparently, a goddess that had died long ago and gone to Helheim. Now, she was Hela’s companion. Given the momentous occasion of Hela’s visit, the tables were rearranged a bit to fit everyone of importance.

 

            The Highest Table consisted of only two seats; Odin on the right and an empty seat for the deceased Queen of Asgard on the left. The two tables (Higher and High, in descending order) on the lower levels had seven seats, but Tony was pretty sure it’d been six, before. At the Higher Table, one of the two tall, muscular men sat at the far end, followed by one of the women from the place with the purple symbol. Next to her was Thor, and Hela in the seat in the middle. On Hela’s other side was Tony, with the sunset-haired woman (Ryok, right?) next to him, and finally one of the shorter, stockier people from Nidavallir at the other end of the table. The High Table was of roughly the same layout (Tony was detecting a realm-order pattern to all this), only with Loki where Thor was, Nanna in the middle where Hela was, and Clint where Tony was. Aske was next to Clint, followed by the other delegate from Nidavallir at the end. [6]

 

            At the beginning of the feast, Odin stood to formally address those gathered. Besides the three high tables at the front (and set up on different levels, with Odin the highest, of course), there are numerous longer ones stretched out lying perpendicular to them. (It almost reminds Tony of those feast scenes in the Harry Potter movies – Loki counts as a wizard, right?) Odin takes his time to announce everyone. It’s a bit tedious with all the titles, but Tony forces himself to listen, to get an idea of who the people from the purple and blue banners are, and where they’re from.

 

            “Of Asgard, my sons; Crown Prince Thor and our returning Prince Loki.” There are murmurs spreading around the hall at Loki’s name, and Odin straightens a little. “In light of the Queen’s death – ” Tony swears he sees a flicker of pain in Odin’s tight face, and the murmurs in the audience fall utterly silent. “ – and for how insistently he has lobbied for this conference, his past crimes are to be weighed against the role he now plays. Should he act befitting a prince, he shall once more be treated as one. However, if he should fall into his old ways, there will be no further quarter given to him. I assure both you, my people, and these honored delegations from the Nine Realms, that if he fails to act in accord as a Prince of Asgard should, that Loki shall be stripped of his title and additionally face disownment and banishment, upon penalty of death. Loki is given this final chance while I believe the Queen would wish it so, given his recent actions, and in respect to her previous mercy I shall bind my wayward son to his word so long as it holds true.” There is more silence once Odin finishes, and a long pause from the audience.

 

Finally, there is a lone pair of hands clapping from the side, and Tony looks over. It’s Sif – and the Warriors Three, Thor had introduced them a few days after he and Clint arrived. She’s standing, her face hard as always but resolute. Slowly, Thor’s Asian-looking friend stands, and lends his hands to the clapping as well. The other two hastily hurry to follow, and soon there is a smattering of applause spreading amongst the audience. It’s not everyone, but Tony notices that the people who are clapping look a little sad, although they’re still eying Loki like he’ll turn into a snake in front of them. The ones who don’t clap look far from happy, but they don’t say anything since Odin has decreed it; almost grudgingly respecting their king. Odin nods to them, and Tony watches Loki sit back down at the High Table in front of him. His back is tense, although Tony can’t really blame him.

 

“Of Helheim, the Queen Sannhet Hela and her companion Nanna.” Right, grey-bat-wing-thingy symbol. Both of them stand as they are announced, then sit back down once the applause stops.

 

“Of Vanaheim, two Daughters of Queen Bevist Skadi, and the late Queen Frigga’s esteemed sisters; Princesses Daggry and Bolge.” OK, they’re from the purple-swirly-symbol place, Tony’s got it. … Wait, _sisters_? Tony glances over at them, and catches the golden-haired one at their table placing a gentle hand on Thor’s shoulder, both of them meeting eyes sorrowfully. If he had to guess, since Daggry was listed first, Tony’s going to deduce she’s the one with blond hair sitting at the Higher Table. Tony then glances down to the High Table in front of them and sees the brunette exchanging quiet words with Loki under all the clapping, their expressions somber but unreadable; she must be Bolge. After their applause, the two women sit down.

 

            “Of Jotunheim, two trusted advisors of the returned King Sterkeste Farbauti; Hagl and Kjolig.” The muscular, almost-blue-skinned men stand to accept their applause, and Tony figures it makes sense that they’re from the blue-spiky-symbol place.

 

            _In fact, Farbauti was the first king of Jotunheim. He was usurped by Laufey, who started the war._ It’s a small voice, amidst the clapping, and Tony glances to his right to see Hela staring straight ahead, her expression neutral. In fact, he’s not even sure he heard her, until her left eye locks on him. He frowns, just thinking to himself.

 

 _Wasn’t her other eye the one that was covered, before?_ The visible corner of Hela’s mouth curves in amusement, and she inclines her head in a slight nod.

 

            _You are astute, Tony Stark. Has my father given you directions on your situation?_ Getting it, now (and definitely _not_ freaking out about the fact Loki’s daughter is apparently a telepath) Tony squints a little, but tries not to be too obvious about it. He and Clint are up next, after all, and the applause for… Jotunheim’s? … delegates is ending.

 

            “Of Midgard, two of the Avenging Warriors; “Man of Iron” Prince Tony Stark of the Kingdom of America and “Eye of Hawk” Clint Barton.” Wow, that was a mouthful. Tony smiles charmingly at the audience even as he answers Hela.

 

            _Maybe he did. What’s it to you, kid?_ Hela sounds amused in his head as he and Clint bear their applause.

 

            _It might be relevant. It might even save your life. I see many burned threads tied to you, Tony Stark._

He doesn’t look at her as he sits back down, in tandem with Clint at the High Table in front of him.

 

            _Threads? What threads?_

_You should have died many times, Tony Stark. Each time your life is changed, whether by others or your own design, it results in new paths. Some of these paths lead to death. The ends of the threads that lead to death, if you avoid them in time, are burned. This results in more threads and more paths, as you have not died. I can see your entanglements, Tony Stark; your addictions, Edwin Jarvis burning some threads, Obadiah Stane adding more paths to death, Virginia Potts burning other threads—_

Odin announces Ryok and Aske from Muspelheim, and Tony just automatically claps along.

_Wait, what about Stane? It was just Afghanistan and then the Iron Monger suit. He didn’t –_

_Do you believe your parents’ deaths to be an accident, Tony Stark? Obadiah Stane thirsted for your family’s power and you have so very many burned threads that I can see only led to death in the months and years after your parents’ demise. These threads came from the changes Obadiah Stane made to your life, and some changes that you **allowed** him to make._

Tony’s blood feels cold. The two red-haired women sit down, after their applause.

 

            _I have upset you. I apologize._ Hela remarks on this after hesitating, sounding thoughtful but not exactly sorry. She changes the subject, anyway. _What did my father say to you? It is of importance, Tony Stark._

 

Tony doesn’t answer her. He doesn’t even look at her.

 

Last to be announced are Brokkr and Idi from Nidavallir; Tony barely hears it, but his hands clap anyway, along with everyone else’s.

 

Hela doesn’t say anything more. She doesn’t push. Tony hesitates as the feast begins and stares at his food before downing his goblet of something-alcoholic (because it burns going down) and signaling for another. He had thought about asking Ryok about Muspelheim; sure, she’s a little scary, but she’s sitting on his left and they probably have to make small talk, around here. Deciding, Tony shoots Hela a reply even as he turns towards Ryok with a friendly smile, to which Ryok just looks stoically unimpressed.

 

 _He said, ‘Do not trust me, Stark. Trust Odin.’_ Hela doesn’t reply, and Tony dives into the same bullshitting socialization he grew up with, all his life.

 

At least Ryok seems to be a matter-of-fact, manly type of girl with no sexual interest whatsoever in him. Tony’s not sure his frayed nerves (of going through memories involving _Jarvis_ and _Howard_ and _Maria_ and _Obie_ ) could handle a swooning princess adequately enough to avoid an intergalactic incident.

 

Thank fuck for alcohol.

 

[6] Feast seating arrangement for delegates, and their status.

 

  


	7. Who's The Cat, Who's The Mouse?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets a little buzzed at the feast, somebody crosses personal boundaries again and Tony’s starting to wonder what these Tasks are really supposed to test. They feel more like a green light for Odin to fuck with his head, more than anything that might actually demonstrate Tony’s ‘worthiness’. (Whatever that means, because Tony’s known all along that he’s worthy, of course. It’s just a matter of making the King of Asgard realize that, and if Odin has to do three little tests to convince himself, hey, who’s Tony to judge?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Dance a Little Dance  
> Chapter Seven: Who’s The Cat, Who’s The Mouse?  
> Word Count: 3,945  
> [Total Word Count: 31,664]  
> Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe  
> Pairing: Eventual FrostIron/IronFrost, if we can get there in one piece.  
> Warning: Language, Nine Realms politics, conference delegates, drinking  
> Spoilers: Incorporates everything in the main storyline up to the ending of “Thor: The Dark World”. Definitely nothing from “Winter Soldier” or “Age of Ultron”. Also, Tony still has the shrapnel, electromagnet and arc reactor in his chest.  
> Author: Kisnau  
> Date: Wednesday, July 1, 2015  
> Miscellaneous Notes: Sorry for the two-month wait since the last chapter – moving and job-hunting and getting used to a new city, oh my! Not to mention acting auditions and still needing to sign up for healthcare now that I'm back in the US… Eep!
> 
> This chapter was basically done on June 21st (Happy Belated Father’s Day!) except for two paragraphs; the latter of which is why I didn’t post it until now. Won’t have time to post it on the 11th, either, so – here you go! Thank you so much for reading, commenting (if you're into that sort of thing) and being patient with me! :3

* * *

 

            From somewhere, there’s music. Tony can’t be sure where it’s coming from, but it’s vaguely Scandinavian with something else added to it. A servant keeps refilling his goblet as they work through the various courses of the meal, and then there’s no more food as everyone talks and digests. Tony notices some people get up and start to mingle, at this point, but the world beyond the high tables is starting to blur.

             He had talked with Ryok for a while (when they still had food), until Brokkr joined in their conversation when it started to turn towards how Muspelheim had made Ryok’s clothing. She stated, rather glibly, that it was a garment that trapped the heat in which it had been forged, insulating her and her sister from the colder temperatures of the other realms, to keep them comfortable. Then Brokkr brought up some interesting stuff about how they make things in Nidavallir; melding magic and metal. He was a swarthy guy, with a bristly black beard and a barrel chest. Nevermind the fact he was a head shorter than Tony; Tony’s pretty sure Brokkr could bend him over backwards and snap his spine if he was ever so inclined.

             Tony’s pretty sure there was an invitation in there, somewhere, since Tony’s mind never shuts off from engineering and he’d shared some information about the ways that Earth builds things. Brokkr had been fascinated by the idea of Tony’s Iron Man suit, and while Tony had flat-out admitted some things just wouldn’t ‘work’ without Earth technology, he was definitely up for some collaboration. So Brokkr had invited him to Nidavallir, sometime after the conference. Tony was all for it, but he had a sneaking suspicion there were more politics involved than met the eye, so he didn’t commit himself, entirely.

             When everyone stood and began to mingle, Tony’s balance wasn’t doing the best. Clint immediately approached him from where he was sitting in front of him, frowning. He indicated a spot off to the side with a tilt of his head before starting to walk, and Tony followed after. Hidden by the curtains off to the side of the throne, Clint eyed him appraisingly.

             “Dude, are you drunk already?” Tony just grinned at him, leaning heavily on a column holding up the ceiling.

             “You’rrrre jussst _jealous_ I’m having such a good time with these aliens, ol’ buddy.” Tony slurred. He wasn’t really _that_ drunk (and had a hell of a tolerance), but it was fun to see Clint’s face darken as he leaned in. Also, maybe the something-alcoholic he’d had to drink was a _bit_ strong for Tony to have been gulping it down like he had.

             “Tony, these guys are _alien royalty._ You think it’s a good idea to give the impression Earth’s just a bunch of drunkards?”

             “But lookit _Thor!_ He’s doing it, too!” They both glanced back to the high tables and, sure enough, Thor’s face was flushed and he was booming his words with more gusto that usual; most of it directed at Daggry sitting to his side, who was bearing it all with what looked like an indulgent smile.

             “He’s the _Crown Prince_ and it’s a feast in his _home!_ Of course he can get away with it!” Clint hissed at him, grabbing Tony’s shirt in the middle with his fist and shaking him. “What would Steve say? Or Natasha? You’re representing _Earth_ , you idiot, you can’t just – ”

             “Is there a problem?” A smooth voice cut into their argument, and Tony blinked vaguely towards the three Lokis that ducked into the curtains of their little alcove; smiling, cool and poised. Clint frowned at him, but before he could respond Tony gushed.

             “Lokes! Darling, I’d been wondering when you’d start speaking to me again – ” Clint slapped a hand over Tony’s mouth as one of Loki’s eyebrows quirked.

             “He’s drunk.” Clint supplied, but not without a touch of frost, and Loki’s smile turned a tad amused.

             “I see. Sadly, the feast is not over yet. After the period to socialize is over, there is dessert laid out in a buffet, and then the tables are moved to allow dancing.” Tony’s grin stretched out from behind Clint’s hand.

             “Really? You guys are into that?” Loki’s expression was sweet and harmless, as he nodded.

             “Of course. I would not recommend retiring early.” Loki added, offhandedly, as he turned to leave.

             “Why not?” Clint sounded tense. Loki glanced back at him with one eye, still poised to stride back out into the Great Hall.

             “It may indicate weakness.” Loki offered, coolly, with just a spark of malice in his eye. “To hide one who is drunk is to indicate one is ashamed and that such a loss of control is seen as unfavorable in your culture. The AllFather allows Thor to celebrate as he will, and does not chastise him, and so it is seen as he is proud of Thor’s merrymaking. It is not hurting anyone, after all, although it _is_ rather loud.” Loki tilted his head, watching Tony and Clint shrewdly. “It is Asgard’s custom to offer food and drink in copious amounts, so their guests feel welcome. Further, the First Delegates are permitted more leeway in their behavior than the Second Delegates – that would be you, Sir Bartonson – as they do not rank as high. If such an occasion occurs when a First Delegate needs to be tended, it is far better someone from their own realm takes up the mantle of caregiver than risk a diplomatic faux pas, yes?”

             Tony didn’t understand most of that, but Loki had said it all very sweetly and Tony really couldn’t help but just watch his lips as they moved. He remembered those lips; or, he thought he did. He remembered Loki – tall, _female_ Loki – wrapping herself around him and dancing with him and…

             Tony’s eyes glazed over as Clint growled something.

             “So you mean _I’m_ supposed to be his fucking nursemaid if he collapses?” Loki simply smirked at him, turning to lift the curtain away from his face as he left.

             “It is up to you, Sir Bartonson. _Do_ have an enjoyable evening.” Clint grumbled something, but grabbed Tony’s arm and glared at him, anyway.

             “Nothing more to drink, OK? If we’re gonna be here for a few more hours, I’m not just watching as you get smashed.” Tony grinned loopily at him, saluting.

             “Ayeaye, cap’ain!” Clint just looked unhappy at that comparison with Steve, but didn’t try to stop Tony as he wandered back towards his seat. Years of drinking had given him a good-enough tolerance that he’s not as drunk as he could be, but yeah, it was probably time to stop with the hard stuff. He finished what was in his goblet, and when the servant scurried over to refill, Tony put his hand over the top and put in a request.

             “Just water, from now on, bub.” The servant looked confused, but Ryok had apparently heard Tony and understood, and relayed the message. Understanding cleared the servant’s face and he nodded hastily, scampering off to presumably get a different pitcher. Tony looked at Ryok, surprised at the help.

             “Hey, thanks.” She regarded him with an unimpressed look; Tony was starting to think that was her default expression.

             “Asgard’s drinks are not to my taste. I cannot blame you for thinking the same.” Tony thought about correcting her assumption, but instead just shrugged.

             “You have that All-Speak spell, right? What’s it like?” He asked, curiously. Ryok simply gazed at him, unreadable.

             “Perhaps you should talk to Prince Loki or one of the princesses from Vanaheim. I must do the same. Favoritism is a dangerous game to play, with these realms.” At that, Ryok stood up and made her way back behind Tony, and Hela, and Thor, and… Daggry? … to approach Hagl on the other end of the table. Tony blinked, and noticed they didn’t touch, although Hagl did rise to greet her, and they launched into a quiet conversation. Thor seemed to notice, and pretty soon he was squeezing his way past Tony to approach Brokkr, although Tony noticed Thor didn’t take Ryok’s free seat.

             Politics. Right.

             Shrugging to himself, Tony got up and made his way over to Daggry, grinning charmingly down at her when she peered up at him. After a moment, she rose unhurriedly to greet him.

             “So, I was wondering about that All-Speak spell…”

 

* * *

 

            Sure enough, sometime after everybody had talked to everybody else at their respective tables and rotated around a bit, Odin announced the final course of the meal, and they all sat down in their seats again. As Loki had said, there was a buffet laid out – only for the lower tables, though. For the high tables, they were each given plates and servants came around to offer them dessert-type stuff on trays. Tony took anything that looked like it hadn’t been walking around at some point. They were all small things to nibble at, most of them sweet, and apparently there was a special drink served with them. It reminded Tony of unsweetened hot tea (just because he didn’t like tea didn’t mean he hadn’t tried it, at some point), but it wasn’t alcoholic and he guessed it was supposed to ‘cleanse the palate’ or whatever, so he just went with it.

             When the people at the lesser tables down below began to move their tables to the side, Tony glanced excitedly towards Thor.

             “This is the part where we get to dance, right?” Thor spared him a wide beam, cheeks rosy from alcohol (and maybe Tony was just a little bit jealous of that).

             “Verily!” Tony’s face lit up – not even a security detail, _sweet!_ – but his thoughts of seriously getting it on with some alien babes were dashed when Odin announced he would leave the young to their merrymaking. Since the king was leaving, it was pretty much implied anyone else could, too. Tony already knew Clint would want to ruin his fun, so a few seconds after Odin left he stood and headed in the same direction. He’d loop back and sneak onto the dancefloor later.

             Or that’s what he meant to do, anyway; Odin was standing there when Tony walked through the curtains at the side of the throne, and he immediately froze when Odin turned to him.

             “Oh… Hey! Didn’t know you were still back here?” Odin gazed at him, assessingly, before inclining his head towards him.

             “I trust you enjoyed the feast.” Odin offered simply, his one eye boring into Tony. Tony quirked a hasty grin, and gave a thumbs up.

             “Uh. Yeah. Great party, paps. Good food, fabulous company; it all works.” Odin watches him for another moment, before looking back towards the high tables. Most of the delegates are gone – Clint included, presumably to the dancefloor, which _so_ isn’t fair – except for Thor and Loki. Thor seemed to be trying to convince Loki to stay and ‘partake in the merriment’ (Tony heard _that_ much), but Loki was only shaking his head at him and turning to leave. He disappeared into the curtains on the other side of the throne, and Tony watched him go.

             “You have been watching Loki.” It wasn’t a question, and Tony started, wide eyes locking back on Odin, whose face was unreadable.

             “Uh, wha – Well, yeah, I mean, he sort of tried to invade Earth and set up a portal on my roof.” Tony managed to snark back, still feeling a bit caught off-guard with Odin’s abrupt observation. Odin’s eye narrowed at him.

             “It is more than that.” Tony watches Odin watch him, and has the distinct impression he’ll soon be asked to follow him somewhere. But it doesn’t happen; Odin just turns after a long, tense silence and strides away. Tony lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d held, and a servant appears at his side. He gives her a half-smile as she offers to take him to his room.

             “Man of Iron, are you well?” It’s Thor’s voice and Thor’s hand clapping on his shoulder, and Tony manages a weak grin towards his friend’s concerned face.

             “Think I’m done for the night, buddy. You and Clint stay; tell him he can enjoy himself without having to mother-hen me all night.” He waves off Thor’s furrowed brow of confusion, ducks out from under his arm and walks towards the maid. She bows and turns towards the hall to escort him to his room.

             Tony falls onto his bed and immediately into sleep.

 

* * *

 

            The only reason Tony is aware of the shift from buzzed, dreamless sleep to abrupt activity is because one second, he’s drifting between REM cycles and the next there’s something shining in his face and he can’t move. The source of the light tilts and fractures, then, blowing up into something he never could have predicted.

             He can feel every inch of his surroundings, like he’s actually there. The couch in his rebuilt home in Malibu – no, wait, this isn’t his style, too old-world for him, but it’s where his couch usually is – beneath him as he pushes himself up. Everything feels over-saturated; the brights too white, the darks too black, all of them contrasting painfully. The light is streaming in the windows and spreading rays over the person standing before him, and as the colors begin to settle towards something like normalcy Tony can read their expression.

             Loki is staring at him with that closed-off face, and it’s all Tony can do just to keep breathing.

             There’s a multitude of anger and sadness and madness and yes, even affection, behind that look, but Loki won’t let it out. Tony is abruptly aware that he’s trying not to let himself go into a straight-on panic attack and all Loki says to him is:      

            “Well, what will you do?” And Tony snaps back at him, petty as you please, but not knowing _why_ –

             “Why aren’t _you_ doing anything? This is your fault!”

             “And how is it my fault, exactly?”

             “You kept pushing! You know I don’t like to talk about – about – “

             “The fact you now know just how utterly pointless your mortal existence truly is?” That’s Loki’s bastard tone, Tony knows it, has heard it before, but it hasn’t been leveled (seriously) at him in _so long_ he’d nearly forgotten that about Loki. Forgotten that the person he loves – wait, what _the fuck?_ – is just as capable of great cruelty as he is great generosity – to a few selected people, that is. Tony was pretty sure he was in that minority.

             Except for now, when there’s nothing but ice in Loki’s eyes and expression towards him. It’s not even cliché, not chilly in an aggressive way, just coolly removed from all caring. And Tony _knows_ that’s bullshit, he knows there’s so much more behind that mask, but Loki isn’t giving up any of it.

             But Tony spits out the first thing he can think of; he’s feeling hot and panicky enough to let it slip.

             “You’re an _asshole._ ” It’s not said as it is usually; with grudging affection, or some sort of twisted admiration, or half-laughed out of delighted surprise at being caught off-guard with the callousness of something Loki just says out of the blue with complete nonchalance.

             Now it’s just anger. Tony’s over here, freaking out because Loki just _had_ to keep pushing to talk about the Chitauri and New York and Tony doesn’t know if it’s Loki giving in to boredom and just deciding to play with him like Tony’s a toy on a string or if it goes deeper, more sinister than that. It’s bad enough just thinking Loki’s already _bored_ of him, but he doesn’t think about that. Instead he’s focusing on repressing the urge to punch Loki in his face, if only to startle him out of his forced apathy.

             Tony _knows_ Loki cares. He probably just doesn’t know what to do. Something shifts in Loki’s expression and Tony’s hackles go up again.

             “What do you want me to do.” It’s stated matter-of-factly; Tony knows it cost Loki to ask that.

             Still. Tony’s already upset, and the anxiety clutching his throat shut doesn’t let him focus on Loki’s feelings right about now. Tony can notice it, but his body is reacting more than his brain and so it doesn’t get acted upon.

             “Something! _Anything!_ Instead of just sitting there doing nothing!” Tony practically snarls that response back, curling psychologically in on himself so as not to allow any more room for Loki to hurt him. Loki’s expression goes back to non-reacting ice and his tone is chilly once more, when he speaks.

             “What will you do?” It’s bordering on curious, or Tony thinks it is and he snaps back at Loki for the patronization he feels is going on, now.

              “Well, I guess I’ll just die!” Fed up, he turns his back on Loki and curls into his chair, arms caging in his head. The darkness helps, and Tony closes his eyes and tries to just focus on his breathing. It’s fast and erratic, and he’s upset so it keeps getting faster. Tony tries to let it be for a bit, let it do what it wants in hopes that it’ll calm him down to let the stress out. When he notices he’s on the urge of hyperventilating Tony forces himself to hold his breath; keep it in so he doesn’t end up sending himself into an even worse panic attack. Throughout all of this he’s half-hoping Loki will come up behind him and hold him. It’s a stupid want – a stupid _need_ , maybe, if he admits it to himself but –

              So much of Tony’s life has been alone, he’s never actually broken down in front of someone if he could help it. There was that kid in Tennessee who helped him, sure, but that was different; kids are different. And here he is, full-on panicking right in front of Loki’s nose, vision blurry and throat a vice and all the guy can do is stare at him and ask Tony what Tony wants Loki to do. And maybe if Tony were a little more in control of himself he could take pity on Loki’s shit social skills when it comes to being genuine and ask for a hug, or maybe if he weren’t so proud it’d come out easier, but the point is it _doesn’t_ and all the question does is set him off at being more annoyed at Loki for not just _knowing_ to _come the hell over and hold me goddammit._

             They’ve talked about this before; Loki should _know_ by now. Tony knows it’s probably not that Loki doesn’t _want_ to comfort him, but rather that Loki doesn’t want to take the risk of being rebuffed if he tries to reach out. Loki avoids confrontation when he can; given two choices, turn left or turn right, he’ll stay in place and think about his options; almost paralyzed by them.

              But that doesn’t change the fact that Tony freaking out not five meters away from Loki _who is doing nothing about it_ makes Tony feel so utterly alone. It’s like it doesn’t even matter anymore. What’s the point of a relationship if you feel alone? These self-destructive thoughts swirl in his head as they always do and Tony _still_ can’t bring himself to say anything beyond trying to control his breath.

              He puts himself back together, takes ten deep breaths that were supposed to only be three, and pulls his arms down and stands up to face Loki. He doesn’t look at him and it’s obvious Tony’s _avoiding_ looking at him, but it’s not ashamed or awkward. Tony knows his face has that steely edge to it that it gets when he’s beyond fed up and just shuts down all expression because he doesn’t want to deal with people.

              Loki seems to sense the mood and leaves not long after that. He doesn’t say a word. Tony brushes it off and goes down to his lab to tinker.

              Later, when he’s intently focused on some project, there’s a presence at his elbow and what feels like a plate digging into his side. There’s a wafted smell of food following, and when a few prods with the plate don’t yield any responses, Loki speaks from just beyond Tony’s peripheral vision.

              “Here. Eat.” Annoyed with the interruption – if Loki wanted his attention, he should have fucking _done something before,_ not now that Tony’s successfully immersed in one of his classic bouts of escapism. So when Loki floats the plate in front of his face, trying to tempt him, Tony only manages a curt dismissal, still irritated at the distraction when he’s focusing on something _important._

             “Not now.” The plate and Loki disappear, but when Tony turns to get a tool he notices the plate has been left on a stool a few feet away from his hip.

              He just stares at it; not uncomprehending, but unwilling to comprehend.

              He just doesn’t care right now.

              Tony turns back to his work and keeps tinkering.

              The food goes cold.

              Maybe he should feel bad about it, but he doesn’t.

              Maybe Loki likes being alone. Maybe that’s what his non-response was supposed to mean. Tony knows he gets on Loki’s nerves, sometimes; he’s always talking, always cracking jokes, always commenting, always thinking. Compared to the silence Loki’s used to, it’s probably pretty annoying.

              Tony thought it meant something.

              ( _They_ meant something.)

              … Well. It wouldn’t be the first time he saw something that wasn’t actually there.

              Good thing he always has his lab; science and engineering have yet to betray him.

 

* * *

 

            Tony wakes up staring at the ceiling of his room in Asgard and thinks:

            _What the fuck._

It had to have been a dream, but it didn’t feel like a dream. Tony fell into bed, there was that ringing in his head with a bright light, he was facing Loki, and then he was staring at the ceiling. His brain wants to logic it out, but it’s been operating weirdly ever since that alien portal over Stark Tower in New York.

            It _has_ to be operating weirdly, because the only explanation Tony has is _magic._

            But why would Loki show him something like that? What purpose could that illusion possibly serve? Sure, Tony had had some lingering… thoughts… that he had ignored, but it was all conjecture. Or had Loki just pulled that out of his head for shits and giggles?

            There’s a knock at his door, and Tony’s up and answering it before he can think about moving.

            It’s an old man in a hooded cloak and walking staff. He’s hunched over and Tony can’t see his face. Tony’s agitated enough from the not-dream that he almost yells at him, and opens his mouth to do just that.

             “Your Ordeal for today is concluded.” The familiarity of the voice catches him, and Tony just stares down at the gnarled form. The hand grasping the walking staff is old, decrepit and liver-spotted. “A servant shall fetch you for the Third Task.” With that, Odin peers meaningfully up at him with his one good eye, before hobbling away. Tony is frozen in place, staring after him and mind racing as to what the _hell_ he had been tested on, _this_ time.

              Whatever it was, he must have passed, if Odin didn’t see fit to run him through for his failure.

              … Fan-tastic. One more to go.

 

 


	8. You’ll Never Win At Chess If You Think You’re Playing Tic-Tac-Toe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the feast there's a day the delegates can get to know each other a little bit, and Hela proves herself an invaluable ally. Tony starts the Third Task, but it only leads to more questions. Then, there’s an answer where he hadn’t expected one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Dance a Little Dance  
> Chapter Eight: You’ll Never Win At Chess If You Think You’re Playing Tic-Tac-Toe  
> Word Count: 4,708  
> [Total Word Count: 36,372]  
> Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe  
> Pairing: Eventual FrostIron/IronFrost, if we can get there in one piece.  
> Warning: Language, Nine Realms politics, drama  
> Spoilers: Incorporates everything in the main storyline up to the ending of “Thor: The Dark World”. Definitely nothing from “Winter Soldier” or “Age of Ultron”. Also, Tony still has the shrapnel, electromagnet and arc reactor in his chest.  
> Author: Kisnau  
> Date: Friday, July 31, 2015  
> Miscellaneous Notes: Two chapters out in one month - whoo! Seem to be settling in, apparently. :3 Hopefully I’ll have more out soon! Enjoy the new chapter, regardless - all newly written in the past two weeks while I'm commuting on public transit (so, yes, first chapter of mine to be written completely on a smartphone)! I even got a small Bluetooth keyboard to help me get off my ass and get back to this story - I’m trying, my wonderflurries! So glad to be able to give you two posts this month, even if I just barely squeaked in under the deadline! :D 
> 
> I LOVE YOU ALL FEEL FREE TO COMMENT I'M LIKE TONY I LOVE TO CHAT PLEASE DON'T BE SCARED MY LOVELIES. 
> 
> ALSO HI BATWYNN!!! 
> 
> SHE DID SOME SUPERRIFIC ART FOR THIS FIC GO CHECK IT OUT ON MY TUMBLR HERE: http://kisnau.tumblr.com/tagged/dald-fic

* * *

             Tony doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night; then again, he hadn’t really thought he would. Instead, he stares out his window at the rainbow bridge over sparkling star-water and thinks.

            Why would Odin show him that? If that was a test, Tony would really like to know what it’d been testing. Firstly, all that focus on Loki. Hadn’t Odin just been criticizing him for just watching Loki? Or was his goal to throw Loki at Tony, hoping Tony could 'fix' him? But that didn’t make sense – Odin hated mortals, didn’t he? Thought they were weak? A waste of a millisecond of time, in comparison to Asgardian lifespans?

            But then why…

            Perhaps what scared Tony the most out of the whole thing was how invested he'd been in the fight. It had felt visceral, like he and Loki had actually had months or years to iron out a way to interact enough that they knew each others' tells. Tony had felt like he knew Loki – which was all kinds of levels of messed up. He _didn't_. Maybe he'd thought about going another round in the sack with Loki, but who wouldn't?

            Regardless, one-night stands were a hell of a lot different than some sort of… relationship. Tony wanted to cringe at the very thought. Him and Loki? Two hot messes thrown together was a disaster waiting to happen - end of story, no happy ending. The best they could ever hope for would be an enemies-with-benefits sort-of arrangement.

            (That was right, wasn't it? The saner option? Maybe Pepper would have been proud of his reasoning skills...)

* * *

            Tony’s trying to figure out what Odin’s game is. He feels like he’s being yanked around on a chain, and is starting to regret ever agreeing to this deal. Mental torture had _not_ been high on his list of things to do for this visit. What’s weirdest of all is that Odin gives no indication of the weirdness he’s been putting Tony through. Naturally, Tony hadn’t said anything to Thor or Clint. Over the next day Tony waits on tenterhooks for the final axe to fall, but it never comes.

            With the conference officially started, apparently Odin has arranged a kick-off day where the delegates can spend the meals mingling – probably so they don’t end up killing each other during the _actual_ conference. Everyone has a chance to schmooze around with everyone else, so they get a feel for each other. Tony has to admit he’s sort of a fan of Ryok and Brokkr, if only because Thor and Clint are doing their own things and Loki’s not approached him at all. Every time Tony tries, he’s met with a polite smile just barely covering sharp teeth. Hela is OK, too, even if she is a little weird and Nanna is as mute and expressionless as the first day Tony saw her come walking down that hall. He has to wonder about the Asgardian that called out to her – hadn’t he called her ‘mother’?

            Tony tries to get into the library again, but it’s mysteriously locked. Yeah, that isn’t suspicious at all. It’s either Odin or Loki because Tony can’t think of anyone else who’d like to screw with him like that, so instead Tony settles for rounding up one of the servants to help him translate that book he’d managed to snap pictures of, before. Lucky him, though, the servants on Asgard aren't taught to read, so Tony’s forced to go to Thor anyway. He can tell right off the bat that Thor’s not one for reading because the big guy gets distracted, but he helps Tony get a general idea of what that book had been about.

            Basically, it was a boring, Asgard-washed version of the history of each realm, along with the royal families of each. Jotunheim had been the only one that wasn’t mind-numbingly tedious. Farbauti had been overthrown by Laufey, apparently? Some juicy gossip, right there; something to spice up this children's reference book on the history of the Nine Realms that Tony's picked up. And that’d been what Hela had said, but Tony’s beginning to suspect there's more to it because no one wants to talk about Laufey – not even Thor. Every time Tony asks he’s shushed, as though he’s uttered a curse word in a convent. Loki is studiously quiet every time it comes up, too. So, in the end, Tony brings it up to one of the delegates from Jotunheim.

            As Tony sidles up to his new best friend of the hour, the Frost Giant stares at him as though he’s got better ants to squash. Tony doesn’t take the hint, of course, and opens with a charming smile and –

            “So, about that whole Laufey-uprising thing –” Tony’s not sure they have the AllSpeak spell, but that dark blue face darkens into something almost resembling indigo and before he realizes it, Tony’s being herded away by Thor bumbling apologies and grabbing his elbow. This is strange behavior, even for Thor, so when they’re out of the Giant’s sight and hearing range, somewhere among the halls in Asgard’s palace Tony digs in his heels and stops short, fed up with all the evasion.

            “OK, that’s enough, now out with it. What’s the big deal with Laufey and Jotunheim?” Thor doesn’t look at him immediately, but when he does, he looks equal parts sad and guilty. Tony takes it a little more seriously, then, but doesn’t let it go, prompting Thor impatiently to continue. “Well?”

            Thor sighs, and gestures for Tony to sit on the steps with him.

            “Before Loki and I came to Midgard, there was nearly a war between Asgard and Jotunheim; a war after centuries of peace, because I was too arrogant and bloodthirsty to see the true scope of my actions. Loki knew what folly my counsel was, but still he tried to persuade me against perpetrating the actions that led to my banishment on Midgard.”

            Thor pauses, here, and normally Tony would interrupt, but Thor is a man of few words. For him to take such care with this story – well, Tony’s the farthest thing from a sap, but he can respect the scars of war; he’s one himself, after all. One big glowing target, on which all the supervillains out there can practice, and it’s never going away. (Well, maybe if this deal pans out, but Tony’s starting to think it’s less and less likely that Odin’s actually going to fulfill his end of it.) Thor goes on after another moment’s hesitation.

            “He stood by my side, and after I was banished he tried to complete what I had only attempted; genocide of the entire Jotun race. Men, women, children – when I returned Loki had unleashed the power of the Bifrost upon all of Jotunheim. But before this, he invited in their leader, Laufey, with the lure of the promise of murdering my father. Laufey, blinded by centuries of rage and humiliation, seized this chance and was destroyed by the very one who had forged this deal with him - and just as Laufey raised his hand to slay the Allfather.”

            Thor stops, again. Tony takes a moment to digest this. It’s a lot to take in, but he is getting a fuzzy picture out of it. Thor’s voice is so low, then, that Tony almost misses it.

            “Loki let them in. At my coronation, and at the end, before he was lost into the shattered void that had been the Bifrost. Before he was taken and manipulated into leading an army of Chitauri.” Tony should be focusing on other things, but all he can blurt is –

            “Wait, Loki was manipulated?” Thor gives him a nonplussed look, that slowly clears as Thor climbs out of his memories. He eyes Tony cautiously.

            “Yes… I had thought that was clear. My brother is not mad. The sorcerer who led the attack on New York City was not my brother – not until the end, after Friend Hulk had rid him of the possession.” Thor’s eyes look troubled and faraway, and Tony almost feels guilty for stirring this all up. But this is the piece of the puzzle he needed – he doesn’t know how it fits _yet_ , but Tony is sure all this is important somehow.

            “There is something deeper and darker out in the universe, watching us as though we are all rabbits scurrying to find holes. Loki has seen it, and seeks to prevent a slaughter of the innumerable innocents who reside in these Nine Realms.”

            "Well, isn't _that_ a noble turn for him." Tony really couldn't help the sarcasm, but Thor just looks directly at him; blue eyes so pale and piercing that Tony fully believes that Thor is a god, in this moment.

            "You have seen it, too, have you not, Man of Iron?" Tony swallows, and feels a pulse of anxiety at the pity in Thor's endless stare.

            "Seen what?"

            "Seen the wolf that hunts our warren. He watched the battle for Midgard from the tunnel of space above your tower.”

* * *

            Tony doesn't bring up Laufey again, but not knowing is sort of killing him. It's something to do with Loki, that much he can garner, but the rest of it’s a mystery. The most tempting option is to just confront Loki and ask him about it, but…

            _Don’t trust me, trust Odin._

            Well, Tony would have ignored Loki’s words in the bath, if it hadn’t been for Hela confirming their importance. And yeah, he realizes Hela could be just as good a liar as Loki. Still, it just doesn’t seem right that someone referred to as “The Truth of Helheim” would screw people around like her father does. Hela hadn’t sounded like she was the type, either – too aloof, almost. Tony got this feeling Hela knew more than she was letting on.

            …Wait, maybe he could ask _her?_

* * *

            During the next meet-and-greet (at lunch), Tony seeks Hela out. Odin’s given the delegates the whole day to get to know each other, after the feast yesterday, and while it’s notably not Official Business (being much less pomp and circumstance), there are still some protocols around. Not enough that they have assigned seats, because it’s lunchtime now and everyone but Odin can basically sit where they want. (Tony doesn’t think he’d want to mingle, either, given the way he’s somewhat balefully eying his sons from his High Seat.)

            Tony makes to nab himself a place away from Thor, Loki and Clint. It’s easily manageable, what with the long, Viking-style (no, the irony is not lost on Tony, thanks very much) table they’re seated at. He’s not quite quick enough to get to Hela’s side before Nanna, who is never far away. And of _course_ , Hela’s chosen a seat at one of the ends, so there’s only the one option if Tony wants to sit beside her. Tony grins nervously into Nanna’s grey stare, her white hair limp around her face and over her shoulders.

            “Uh… Hey! Beautiful day, innit? I was just wondering if I could get this seat here – ” Nanna doesn’t react to him at all, still standing, fingers still curled over the back of the chair beside Hela. She just watches him as though he is less interesting than the stone they’re standing on. It makes Tony uncharacteristically nervous; women don’t usually react to him like that (well, unless they’re Natasha, but she’s like super-woman so Tony thinks that means she counts as an exception). He swallows.

            _Fear not. She is as the others that are bound by the silence of Nilfheim._

            Tony glances around Nanna to see Hela situated quietly in her seat, her one visible eye crinkled slightly at the corner. He frowns at her, not knowing what to say to respond to that and also not really liking this whole telepathy schtick. Hela’s mouth curves upward almost indiscernibly, but she nods to Nanna; dismissing her, Tony realizes, as Nanna moves away from the chair beside Hela and takes one beside Tony.

            Fuck. Now he’s sandwiched between them. Oh well, at least he got his seat. Shrugging, Tony flops into the vacated chair and turns to Hela, opening his mouth to ask –

            _Not yet. Wait until the eyes have wandered._

Hela doesn’t look at him as she delivers these lines, calmly gazing off into the bustling horde of servants as though his sudden presence was but the merest bump.

            Had she been expecting him?

            Tony shakes off the eerie thought – of course not, that’s impossible. No one can see the future; not even the Queen of Hel? Tony’s already questioning himself by the end of that last thought, but he tries to shake it off and just gives Hela her space.

            The meal will come in a few courses, but Tony doesn’t really pay attention. He noticed the eyes, sure, but he’s so used to being the center of attention that he hadn’t really thought about it being a deterrent. After the appetizer, Hela is the one who breaks the silence.

_You came with a question in your eyes. What do you wish to know?_

            Telepathy again, great. Tony admits ruefully that it means they won’t be overheard, but still – it’s _creepy_.

            (If you get past the cool part, which Tony could totally synthesize if he got receptors on the right wavelengths, because that’s basically what he’s been tinkering with in the idea of a suit broken up into parts that can assemble with a gesture, it’d just need some fine-tuning, really - )

_Your question, Tony Stark?_

            Yep, Hela definitely sounds amused. Oh well. Tony clears his throat – old habit, OK?

_What happened with Laufey and Loki?_

            Hela is silent for a moment.

_…What is your aim for knowing?_

            Whoops, Tony hadn’t really thought about it – he’d just been curious, on the search for information, and… hunh. Why _did_ he want to know? As though sensing his hesitance, Hela begins speaking again after another brief pause, daintily picking up her utensils to begin eating the plate just set in front of her. Tony takes it as a cue to do the same with his, as it appears.

_Laufey brokered a deal with my father. The Frost Giants were admitted into Asgard through a secret passageway – twice, under my father’s guidance._

_Once at Thor’s coronation, and again before the Bifrost was broken?_ Tony can remember at least that much. Hela does not seem discomfited by either his knowledge or his interruption, and simply continues.

_Yes. The latter deal involved Laufey himself venturing into Asgard. The Allfather was caught in the Odin-Sleep; a state where he is rendered immobile and powerless while his mind recovers from the great strain of his power upon him. With Thor banished for his warmongering, the crown of the Nine Realms fell to my father. He determined the most efficient method of dismissing the threat of the Frost Giants – the threat of open war after eons of peace – would be in the destruction of their leader._

_But didn’t he try to destroy the whole world? Thor said –_

_Thor is correct, but he does not know the whys. My father did not share them with him. The destruction of Jotunheim came from my father’s hatred of the Frost Giants – a hatred now so deep and so great, there is no room for sanity. My father did not naturally hate them so, you understand; I and two others were borne of his liaison with a Frost Giant. But this was far before my father strayed from the righteous path he was trying so hard to follow._

            Tony thinks he’s missing some hints, here – Hela’s talking way over his head – but he shelves the information away for later, anyway.

_But what happened with Laufey?_

_My father delivered Laufey straight into the helpless Allfather’s bedchambers. The knife was raised to end the Allfather’s life, but my father revealed his true allegiances and destroyed Laufey in front of both the Allfather and the Queen Frigga, swearing vengeance and seeking their favor. Thor’s return revealed my father’s manipulations. In a state of distress, my father misjudged and made one last, desperate attempt to prove himself by destroying Jotunheim, in all his misdirected rage._

            The air is heavy, after that.

            Tony thinks about it.

            He can’t help but think about Obie playing Loki – wanting the ‘throne’ but never getting it, then engineering Tony’s demise. The only difference had been, Loki actually cared about proving himself as ‘good’ to his family, while Obie just wanted the power of CEO all to himself. Tony tries not to take it personally; maybe it does make him feel a little better, that if it’d been Loki in Obie’s place, Loki would’ve saved him in the end, too.

            Hypothetically speaking; Tony doesn’t even know what the hell he’s thinking about, right now.

            In another turn, Loki’s rage at the Frost Giants is basically Tony’s rage at the terrorists. Vengeance and taking back his name, rebranding it as ‘Iron Man’ instead of the ‘Merchant of Death’. Tony found a few names for Loki on the Internet – ‘Liesmith’ being chief among them, and not a lot of the stories painted him in a fair light, compared to the other gods. There were other names, too; and let’s not forget Christianity painting Loki as a ‘Satan’ figure.

            There was something about Loki being a Frost Giant, too, but Tony can’t be sure where Earth myth detracts from Asgardian fact, so he leaves it alone. It _would_ explain why Loki went so genocide-crazy about Jotunheim at the end – wanting to rid the universe of all others like him, so Loki won’t be defined by his race. If he had destroyed all of Jotunheim, who would be left to say Loki was _of_ Jotunheim? They’d have no proof, if there were no more Frost Giants. Maybe Loki was just a really good shape-shifter and magician, and that would have nothing to do with whether he was of Jotunheim or of Asgard.

            But again, that can’t be confirmed, even though it might make sense. So Tony shrugs, and puts it in the back of his mind for when he has more information on the subject.

            Lunch with Hela is finished in silence; Tony’s got a lot to think about.

* * *

            Dinner is much the same as lunch, only Tony goes back to sitting with Thor and Clint. Loki is off chatting with one of the delegates – his aunts? – from Vanaheim and Tony knows he’s zoning out, but he can’t help it. He just has to stare at Loki and wonder what the hell was going through his head.

            Not that Tony can really judge, when it comes to genocide, but that had been… willful ignorance. He hadn’t thought about people suffering, had just thought about the boys coming home from their tours of duty hale and whole thanks to not being a bunch of infantry cannon fodder. That counts, doesn’t it?

            Tony also can’t get the niggling idea that Loki’s part Frost Giant out of his head. It makes too much damn _sense_ not to be true, but Tony’s not stupid, he can pick up on people and their tells. The Frost Giants aren’t usually approached by the Asgardians, but those ladies from Muspelheim seem to have no problem. Same thing with Vanaheim and Asgard, if Loki and Thor’s interactions are anything to go by; sure, Tony knows their mom’s from there, but still. Ryok had said it’s not good to play favorites, hadn’t she? Now Tony’s wondering if she was being sarcastic.

            So, Muspelheim and Jotunheim are BFFs, and Vanaheim and Asgard are BFFs. Tony’s feeling like it’s high school all over again; cliques, and whatnot. Oh jeez, now he’s drawing up mental images.

            Asgard is the worshipped athletes who can do no wrong and basically run the school, Vanaheim is the honor-student nerds, Muspelheim is the average-intelligence kids, Jotunheim is the vocational kids, Nidavallir is the artsy kids who listen to heavy metal and wear lots of black and chains, and Midgard is that one weird kid who skipped a couple grades and never fit in with anybody. Actually, along with that, Helheim is that quiet loner that exists in every grade, but who’s smart as a whip and knows everything that’s going on.

            Wow, now he’s imagining everyone here decked out in the appropriate high-school outfits; Tony has to smother a huge grin at rethinking _The Breakfast Club_ with the delegates here.

            Oh, well, what harm’s a little fun?

* * *

            It’s a long time after dinner, and Tony’s tinkering with the suit in his room – not wanting to go to sleep and invite any more crazy-ass dreams machinated by a certain magical bastard – when there’s a knock at the door. Half-expecting the same gnarled old man from last night, he’s surprised when it’s just a guard. The man nods at Tony respectfully before turning to escort him to wherever they’re going. Unexpectedly, they head outside. The guard takes him down dark passageways and through echoing corridors, until they emerge into a garden.

            It’s well-kept, and Odin is standing with his spear in hand. Tony hadn’t expected that, but before he can open his mouth (yes, _that_ quick) another figure steps out of the shadows.

            It’s Loki. Tony gives a sidelong look to Odin, who remains unreadable.

            “This is your Third Task, Tony Starkson.” The spear raises straight in the air, and the bottom clinks down on the stone with a small amount of force. Nonetheless, it echoes and a ripple of light rushes out from the spot where it touched the ground, washing over Tony’s feet and suddenly it’s daylight a million miles away on Earth.

            Tony’s staring wide-eyed at that drop-dead gorgeous face he can’t forget even as much as he may want to; pencil skirt, long black braid and all. He turns to look for Odin and instead just sees the interior of his redone Malibu home. An advancing step makes him look back towards girl-Loki and Tony reflexively takes a step back, still thrown. This is nothing like the other two – he knows where he is, knows this is a Task, knows he needs to do _something_ to pass.

            He doesn’t know what it is, though. He nervously watches as girl-Loki gives him a quizzical look before advancing another step.

            “Are you well, dear?” Wait, the fuck? Tony’s pretty sure he squawks his next response.

            “W-What?” Loki’s female face flickers with concern, and she reaches out a hand, her form melding back into a masculine one as s/he makes to cup his cheek. Tony instinctively swats Loki’s hand away, but Loki’s stubborn and grabs his wrist.

            The hold is firm, but the fingers are looped gingerly and only slightly dig into Tony’s skin. Loki leans in, eyes flickering between worried anger and brooding concern.

            “You seem unwell. Have you not been eating, again?” It’s bordering on chiding and Tony bristles a little on principle before remembering – oh, yeah, he does tend to forgot to eat sometimes. But no, that’s not what this is about, it’s something else.

            “This is a Task.” Tony blurts, shutting his eyes so he’s not eternally creeped-out by Loki looking _really_ closely at him. “It’s not real. I don’t know what the hell this is, but – ”

            A hand cupping his cheek and an arm looping over his waist kill Tony’s words dead on his tongue. Loki leans to touch their foreheads together and sounds slightly frustrated, as though he’s forcing himself to be patient.

            “What are you rambling about?” Tony shakes his head and steps back out of that, opening his eyes and laughing nervously to try and hide how much this is freaking him out. Loki’s eyes look hurt for a moment, before they shutter; also hiding. Loki’s hands slowly, measuredly, draw back towards himself and the left hand cups the right, the right hand’s fingers moving in what must be a nervous tic.

            “Look, I don’t know what kind of game Odin’s playing, but this – this isn’t real. We’re not together, we slept together _once_ , I’m not gonna deny that, but this is all sorts of messed up.” Tony’s babbling, again, but he can’t help it. Loki is just watching him and Tony fights the urge to back up to the glass window behind him.

            Loki smiles at him, sadly.

            “Don’t you trust me, Tony?” Tony opens his mouth and then pauses, connecting the dots. He narrows his eyes.

            “Is _that_ what this is about? Me trusting too much? Odin thinking he can’t trust me because I slept with you? Or because I’d sleep with anyone with a ‘pretty face’?” That last bit is sneered, and Loki’s expression is slowly closing off, but Tony can’t bring himself to care. They’re not a _thing_ , goddammit. There never was a chance of it, either. What’s it matter?

            “What has the Allfather to do with this?” Tony wants to slap Loki, just for that. He barks his next response.

            “Some shitty lesson about being careful over who I trust! Well guess what, I make my own decisions! And even if _you_ told me, yourself, not to trust you that doesn’t mean I’m gonna blindly follow along! You hear that, Odin? Hard to trust an ally if they’re always messing with your head and screwing with your emotions!”

            Loki has the gall to smirk, at that, and he tilts his head just-so.

            “But, my dear, _I_ do that, as well.” It’s a silky, slimy response and Tony gives him a glare for it.

            “At least _you’re_ out with it. Odin’s just an asshole. And I don’t know if this is really you I’m talking to or just some puppet Odin’s made up to fuck with my head _even more_ , but I don’t care. And I don’t care what you said in the bath, either. I’d feel a whole lot better trusting the manipulator who’s out about his manipulations than someone who pretends to be all high and mighty and honorable when he’s not.”

            Loki watches him, then, and a slow smile curls over his face. It’s an unfamiliar expression, but then he turns his head and Tony can see Jotun blue leaking onto his cheek.

            “It seems you chose well, Father. He is stalwart and loyal. That much, has not changed.” Tony flicks his eyes to where Loki’s looking and, surprise surprise, Odin’s visible again. The bubble of reality around them sways and falls, revealing the gardens again. Only now, Tony can see that it’s Hela standing in Loki’s place. Her head covering is gone, and half her face is a dark, Jotun blue with one red eye. He frowns, and glances back at Odin.

            “'Father'?” Odin watches him for a long moment – too long, that Hela feels the need to interject.

            “If there is no one else to trust, trust _him_. He has proven himself. Not even the Wolf could erase his nature.” Odin watches Hela, and some look passes between them that Tony can’t decipher. Odin visibly sighs, his eye closing.

            “Your shield is unbreakable, Daughter?” Hela huffs a soft, affectionate laugh. It still sounds too mature for how young she looks.

            “As always. Show him. He has earned that much, with all your mind-games in the guise of Tasks.” There is a small smirk that pulls at Odin’s mouth, but he nods, acquiescing.

            “Very well.”

            There’s really very little fanfare about it; from where Odin’s hand grasps the spear, what looks like green electricity moves inward like a crashing wave from his fingertips and Tony’s gut freezes when the magic passes over Odin's face.

            Tony stares, momentarily speechless.

            Loki gazes back at him, steady and humorless.

            Loki is King of Asgard.

            Pretending to be Odin.

            The Odin that’s been jerking him around is really _Loki_.

            (…Thor thinks Odin is his father when Odin is really Loki.)

            “But then who’s Loki?” Tony blurts out; he can’t help it. Loki and Hela share a glance, before Loki looks to him once more. Tony notices Loki's fingers tighten on the spear.

            “That, Tony Stark, is the question in all our minds.”

            Oh, _shit_.


End file.
